Not Not-Human
by Forensica X
Summary: Cold-case disappearances, gruesome murders, and unexplainable disasters, and a spate of terrorist attacks rocked the UK only to end with an explosion in a tiny village. The Doctor and Rose Tyler followed the trail of the invisible war for years, but never thought their search would lead to adopting a baby with a lightning bolt scar.
1. After Journey's End

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated. I make no profit from this work.

A/N: This is my first crossover. Until I found Book of Changes's _A Study in Magic_, a cross between BBC's _Sherlock_ and JK's world, I had little interest in the category. Thanks for showing me the error of my ways, and I hope this little creation continues the tradition of merging fandoms as well as Book of Changes so admirably does. Do try it out if you find yourself in the mood. It's excellent.

Due to the nature of this story, expect a time shift forward or back dependent on the universe. Let's just suppose that the alternate Earth depicted here is a few years behind that of the "real" Earth according to Rowling's cannon beginning in 1981. Also, ignores certain comments in Season 3, Episode 3 of _Doctor Who_.

**January 30, 2016: **Edits to this story are complete. I hope you enjoy the result._  
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**Trigger warning: references to extreme violence in the prologue. It's not super graphic, but we are talking Death Eaters viewed from an adult perspective, so you've been warned. **

* * *

Chapter One: After Journey's End

* * *

**3 May 1997**

Sirens screeched amidst a cacophony of panic and fear. Everywhere Rose looked, burgundy splashes darkened the dewy tarmac. When finally she managed to pull her eyes away from the gore, Mickey's mouth had pulled into a sickened grimace, and his long fingers twitched against the dark metal of his rifle.

"What happened here?" he muttered.

Rose stood from her crouch over a pool of something she did not dare identify and removed her vinyl gloves. She tried to ignore the suction of the wet plastic to her fingertips. Around them, Torchwood operatives corralled police in their efforts to tape off the perimeter around the large Tudor, while others set floodlights to bathe the scene with morbid clarity.

"Family of five," she answered in the low, sharp way that made the hairs stand up on the back of Mickey's neck. "Mum, dad, two little girls, and a boy. They eviscerated the dad, and hung the boy with his dad's-"

Rose cut off, and Mikey's face took on an unnatural pallor. His hands shook. She caught his eye, and her usually smiling face seemed stuck in a state of tightly reined fury.

"When I find who did this, I'm not sure if I can just put them in stasis," she murmured, sweeping a hand under her eyes. "I won't tell you what they did to the girls and their mum."

"I'm not sure if I should've stayed," Mickey admitted, drifting closer to the blonde. "I wanted to help you, but you've got the Doctor now, and I don't know if I can hack this stuff. I mean, point me at an alien invader and I'm good, but I can't deal with this, Rose. "

He sighed noisily, and his face twisted again.

"It's been months and we haven't found a shred of anythin' aside from that damned crazy reading we get. For fuck's sake, give me something to shoot at, already."

The woman's dour expression softened a little, and the corner of her mouth twitched.

"You're such a man. Are you sure it's not because you miss a certain Martha Jones?"

Mickey pointedly ignored the attempt at levity, and his longtime friend sighed.

"I do love you for staying," she said. "These cases..."

She trailed off and he frowned at her.

"The Doctor takes every one of these on his shoulders. He needs us to show him we still believe in what he can do. Otherwise this would be too much for him."

They looked around at the mess of stone and wood that was once someone's home. Neither let their eyes stray from the destruction to the five covered bundles carefully lain to the side. Instead, they stared up at the glowing spew of green stars hovering over the scene, clustered in a writhing depiction of a snake as it slithered in and out of a skull's open jaw and into one of its eye sockets.

"So he still doesn't have any leads?"

Rose pocketed the device she held and scowled.

"No," she grumbled. "We keep trying to track down the families, but they're all dead ends. Either we find more bodies, or they haven't been in contact for years. It's bizarre."

"D'you still think it's aliens, at all?"

Both stepped aside as a lab tech carefully lifted the first gurney from among the other, smaller bodies and carried it past them toward the waiting van.

The blonde pursed her lips and ran a hand through her mussed hair.

"I don't know, Mickey," she huffed. "I wish I could say I did, but I've never met an extraterrestrial quite like this. Even Daleks didn't scare me as much. I mean, they're terrifying, but this level of pointless cruelty-"

"They're having fun," Mickey agreed. "Whoever's doing this is doing it partly out of sport."

"Exactly."

* * *

Rose returned home much later that night. When she opened the door, she found her Doctor sitting with his head in his hands on the loveseat they had carefully selected in a second-hand shop a few months back. His long, pale fingers clenched and unclenched in his unruly hair, and when the door closed quietly behind her, his dark eyes pinned her in place.

"Rose."

The woman dropped her keys on the mat and launched herself at him without a word. Lean arms squeezed her soft waist, and the sobs she'd held in all day burst from her as his scent filled her nose.

Cinnamon, clover, and a hint of smoke – a remnant from any number of near-disasters – clung to his duster, and the wool of his blue suit felt powdery under her palms. Rose settled against his chest and twisted her hands into his thick hair.

"It's only in the UK," he murmured into the junction of her neck and leather-clad shoulder. "I got the same signals at those last two unexplained deaths."

"There were kids this time," she spat, her voice climbing toward a shriek of fury. "Three of them, not one older than ten!"

"I know, love," the Doctor said softly. "We'll find them."

She looked into his dark eyes, her own glistening with tears.

"But how many more kids are we going to stick in a morgue until we do?"

The Doctor sighed and squeezed her to him, burying his face in her hair.

"I don't know."

Rose and her Doctor held each other long into the night, both enveloped in their own fears. Neither knew, then, just what they had stumbled upon, but it would prove to be the greatest adventure either had undertaken.

* * *

**1 November 2002**

The first pale fingers of dawn stretched to wipe slowly at the dim smudge of stars along the horizon, casting the irregularly spiked skyline into relief. London, though never truly quiet, hummed somewhat lazily beneath the haze of early morning. Only a few people graced the streets, and many of those were stumbling either from lack of sleep, too much drink, or (in many cases) both.

It was a perfectly normal beginning to a Friday. Or, it would have been.

On this particular morning, however, it seemed the ranks of those wandering inebriated seemed to be swelling rather than fading in respect to the coming day. Stranger, still, nearly all of these new additions seemed to come from nowhere at all, and most of them sported the oddest clothing.

Rose yawned as she stared out of her bedroom window onto the street below. She grasped her steaming cup of tea between her hands, and its sides had started to burn her cold fingers, but she couldn't look away from the men and women gathering around the lamppost across the street.

The huddled figures, draped in long cloaks, clung to one another so tightly she thought they might fall over if anyone made a sudden move.

"Doctor," she said sleepily as she blinked at the sight. "Oi, Doctor."

She padded over to the bed to nudge the man still entangled in the sheets.

"What?" he groaned with a reluctant roll onto his back.

He squinted at her blurrily, incognizant of the bemused smile on Rose's pink face.

"I think there's a convention in town. Can we take the day off from explosions, murder and paranormal investigation to go?"

"What sort of convention?" the man yawned as he disengaged himself from the mess of covers.

Rose shot a look out at the street again.

"Fantasy role-playing, I think." She paused and frowned as two owls swooped out of the rapidly lightening sky to land on one of the figures' shoulder. "Or maybe aviary."

"Sorry, what?" the Doctor complained. "It's too early. Come back to bed."

Rose's lips quirked in wicked amusement.

"Careful what you ask for."

But the Doctor had finally woken up enough that he had processed her words properly. He looked at her for a moment, apparently ignorant of the suggestion in her eyes, shot out of bed with a great flurry of sheets, and bolted to the window.

"Owls!" he crowed. "Owls, again! It's them! We've got to go, Rose, we've got to go, now!"

The Doctor snatched his screwdriver from the bedside table and pointed it at the casement, which promptly popped open beneath the whirring influence of the device to allow its owner full access to the street below.

"Doctor!" Rose shouted, but he'd already jumped down one level to the pavement and bolted toward the huddle of oddly dressed people.

He seemed not to care that he had neglected to put on pajamas after they fell into one another's arms the previous night.

"Doctor, it's too cold! I changed my mind, so come back to bed!"

"You lot! Stop there!"

The huddle looked up in amazement at the naked man running at them with his blue-tipped sonic raised in a clear sign of aggression.

Before he could reach the centre of the street, however, a lorry screamed past. Its horn blared, and when Rose looked back at the lamppost, they were gone. She heard the Doctor's cry of frustration and shivered from her perch on the windowsill.

The Doctor started sonicking the spot the strangers previously occupied while Rose admired his naked rear, which seemed to pinch in on itself in the cool November morning. After several minutes of watching him pace barefoot over the cold pavement, the blonde retreated inside, shut the window, grabbed the Doctor's dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door, and padded down the hall to the kitchen. She flicked the television on from the small remote pad recessed into the granite countertop before beginning her morning routine.

The news buzzed to life. Pleasantly neutral voices and the flicker of light across the screen melted to a low hum in the background while she put on a full pot of tea, popped some halved crumpets into the toaster, and threw a pat of butter into a frying pan for kippers.

"Why are you cooking?" the Doctor demanded as he came through the front door, his naked chest blotched in patches of pink beneath the dusting of dark hair. "We've stuffy stuff to track."

Rose rolled her eyes and slid a cup of tea across the counter to stop by his messily folded dressing gown.

"Breakfast first," she said warningly. "I'm not running around on an empty stomach. We'll end up buying chips, and while you somehow manage to suck everything you swallow into another dimension and stay gorgeous and thin, my thighs and bum are thick enough as is."

"But we'll be running, too," he wheedled. "Ignoring that, I rather like the way you're shaped."

The blonde grinned and elbowed her half-Time-Lord lover in the ribs as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. The dressing gown remained on the counter.

"You're not fooling me," she chided. "I'm not as fit as I was at nineteen. Even with the constant running, my metabolism can't keep up."

Rose turned in the Doctor's arms and stood on tiptoe to snake her arms around his neck. She leaned in to kiss him, but he continued staring forward. She bounced a little, squeezing tighter in an attempt to regain his attention. She couldn't reach.

"Not now," he said urgently, squeezing her waist lightly.

She huffed and momentarily considered stomping on his foot.

The Doctor's long fingers tapped the remote panel, and the television's buzz rose and morphed until the commentator's voice filled the small flat.

"Late last night, terror and tragedy visited the community of Godrick's Hollow, a small village located east of Launceston. Police received reports of an explosion just after midnight-"

A horrible image of a caved-in cottage, smoking in the eerie red and blue glow of emergency sirens, flashed across the screen. The newswoman's voice continued speaking as the scene changed to show an ambulance surrounded by confused and upset townspeople.

"—Coroner Corey Mitchell said the couple inside died prior to the explosion; however, the specific cause remains unknown. While Police have not confirmed any involvement of either the IRA or religious extremist groups, Constable Thomas McKinnon had this to say:"

The scene changed again to show the aforementioned constable, who wore a grim, if somewhat bewildered expression on his stubbly face.

"The Launceston bomb squad has confirmed they haven't found any of the chemical residues common to most explosive weapons. Right now, it seems most likely a gas pipe burst, which later caused the explosion. This may also explain the state of the bodies found inside, although we're waiting on the results of lab tests to confirm. Really, the only indication of any sort of foul play seems to be the absence of the child who belongs to the upstairs nursery–"

The sound cut off abruptly, and Rose looked back into the Doctor's face.

"They've no idea how it happened," he grumbled, wriggling free of Rose's tentacle-like grip. "I think that's the sixth died-of-no-discernable cause case we've heard about just this month."

He left the kitchen and hopped over the back of the sofa to retrieve a TARDIS blue journal lying on the coffee table. He flipped through the well-thumbed pages to the latest entries and pencilled in a few notes while Rose went back to making her breakfast.

"How many does that make for the year?" she asked softly.

"Unexplainable death or bizarre murder in general?"

"Let's just make it the total body count since you dropped yourself with me."

"Since 1995?" he pursed his thin lips, and his eyes darkened. "Eight hundred and twenty-two adults, three hundred and seventy-five children. It's slowed down, though, since '99. Just this year, that's fifty incidents like this one, and we've got nine really bad ones no one can remember."

The blonde woman shuddered a little as she plated her food.

"How could anyone forget?" she mumbled. "Especially the last one…"

The Doctor nodded grimly, flipping to the appropriate page in his journal.

"Pair of lawyers, flayed alive, killed by brain liquefaction," he said coolly. "Of course, it doesn't help all our girls and boys had to re-learn the case. I just want to know how they're doing it. I mean, most of them wear psychic filters, so they shouldn't be vulnerable to that type of wipe."

"I wonder why we haven't forgotten?" Rose mused as she nibbled her crumpet.

"I know you get tired of hearing it, but probably exposure to the time vortex via the TARDIS."

The Doctor's bare feet flopped over the arm of the sofa and his mussed hair peeked around its back on the other end.

"Stop sulking," the blonde commanded with a crooked smile. "I'm done, so we can go hunting already."

By the time they had dressed in their customary uniforms – he in a blue pinstripe suit, ridiculous tie, converse trainers, and trench coat; and she in jeans, t-shirt, and blue leather jacket – the sun blared brightly in the sky over a bustling London. They went by foot from their flat from block to block, following the swish of many-coloured cloaks. No matter how quickly they ran, however, as soon as they came upon a secretive huddle, their quarry disappeared. Even the mass flight of owls overhead led them nowhere, as they would finally track one down only for it to disappear without a trace.

The Doctor slumped onto a park bench. Rose sighed and glared overhead at the frustrating creatures, which seemed to chirp and shriek laughs at their desperate chase.

"Want chips?" the Doctor grumped, sitting up with a resigned look on his angular face.

"'Course I do."

* * *

Several blocks away, an overlarge man with several chins and a walrus moustache grumbled to himself around his second morning doughnut about the sorts of people infesting the city, while all around the country, men and women in cloaks and pointed hats gathered in small, whispering groups to quietly toast a single name.

Miles away, a small meteor shower rained over a tiny town in broad daylight, and one of its occupants cursed as two scarlet-clad men attempted to undo the unusual light show.

In the highlands of Scotland, a wizened old professor cradled his face in his hands as he listened to the anguished fury of his most trusted agents and the soft sobs of his most tenured employee and dear friend.

The earth continued its steady rotation, and the sun sank below the horizon over Godrick's Hollow, where, in a well-appointed parlour stacked with books, a hulking man with wild black hair and beetle-black eyes carefully held a shrieking toddler to his chest as huge tears disappeared into his already moist beard. The hobbled old woman sitting across from him in an overstuffed chair sighed wistfully at the two visitors to her parlour as she reflected on the nice young family she'd known so briefly.

The baby would not be quieted for a long while, not until the giant of a man swaddled him in a blanket stolen from a ruined crib and slipped him gently into the sidecar of a huge black motorbike. The little boy's bright green eyes stared up at the star-strewn sky as it flew above him, and finally, gratefully, he eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

**2 November 2002**

"This way, Rose!"

A man in a trench coat ran pell-mell down the otherwise quiet suburban street. A tabby cat yowled and ran off as he jumped a low garden wall to skid, reeling, across the perfectly manicured lawn of the house numbered '4.' A blonde woman ran after him, a blocky device held in her left hand while her right adjusted the many knobs and switches around its blinking screen.

"Doctor, the scanner says twenty feet south!" she shouted, rounding the corner after him.

The man called the Doctor spun to look impatiently back at her after glancing in the indicated direction.

"Don't be ridiculous! It's just a boring old house."

But he still paused to point a silver instrument at the nondescript abode, completely unremarkable and indistinguishable from its neighbours. The end began blinking, and merry whirring broke the quiet of the early morning as the Doctor's bushy eyebrows disappeared beneath his messy fringe.

Rose jogged the last feet to join her companion and grinned as she caught her breath. The device in her hand emitted a similar noise to the screwdriver's, its small yellow screen just as excited in the presence of the suburban home.

"It's about time we found a live trail," the Doctor said in relief. "Although–" he frowned, turning on the spot to examine their surroundings. "–I thought it'd be something a little more exciting than this."

He took the scanner and adjusted the settings with his trusty screwdriver while Rose gratefully took a break to sit on the curb to catch her breath.

"It is a little anticlimactic," she finally agreed. "Considering the explosion yesterday, you would have thought it'd lead to some horrible lair or something."

The Doctor made a grumpy sort of noise as he continued his fiddling.

"What'd that put our body count at?" she said more sedately. "I mean the ones with that same sort of signature. Have we reached five hundred yet?"

"Six hundred seventy-three," the Doctor provided. "Only a fraction of those anyone can remember at all for what they were. But if we count the hurricane in Glasgow two years back, it's more like twelve hundred and fourteen."

Rose perched on the curb with a groan, closing her eyes. The grass under her bottom felt a little chilly through the fabric of her jeans, and the concrete under her palms scratched a little, but it was a nice change of pace considering the last time she'd slept had been Halloween night.

Their hunt through London for mysterious things the Doctor couldn't identify had taken them up and down too many streets, chasing the tails of disappearing cloaks until they came upon one of the most horrible things Rose had ever witnessed.

In the absence of more interesting environmental stimulus, her brain readily conjured up the destruction she could still smell clinging to her jacket.

The explosion had demolished the street and a small part of the tube system, debilitating traffic and horrifying everyone in the vicinity. Water flooded the hole, into which many of the bodies had fallen and still lay, torn and bloody, untouchable until Police and bomb squad officials finished their investigation. Torchwood operatives waited in the wings, discreetly making their own notes on the things their more mundane counterparts couldn't detect. It had been the freshest signature they'd come across, at the cost of too many bystanders whose lives had abruptly ended in one flash of devastating violence.

"What's it saying?" she asked from her semi-relaxed pose, opening her eyes again to the slowly brightening sky.

"We've still got something, but it's muddled."

A small snuffling noise caught Rose's attention through the metallic whir of the Doctor's screwdriver.

"Doctor," she frowned, sitting up to look towards number four.

"What?" he said distractedly as he began pacing up the street. "It's definitely here! I've worked through some of the distortion…"

"Doctor."

The woman moved faster now as her eyes focused on the small bundle laying in the dim pool of light cast by number four's lamp.

"Hah! There it is! I've got rid of it completely. There's a perception filter coming from somewhere nearby. It was messing with the trail," he rambled. "Incredible! It's almost Time-Lord-y. Definite chronon activity!"

The woman couldn't care less about their hunt at the moment. She knelt on number four's front step to scoop up the child she'd found there. He whimpered and squirmed as his emerald eyes blinked open beneath the scabbed, puckered mark on his pale forehead.

"Doctor," she said sharply, turning to glare at him.

He finally looked up, his lips pursed in clear annoyance.

"What is it? I'm trying to figure this out."

Rose's eyes narrowed.

"First off, shut up. You're still too grumpy. I'm the boss, that's what you said. Start acting like it," she commanded. "And if you're quite done whinging, there's a rather more important something for you to be fussing over."

"That's a baby," the Doctor dismissed. "Nothing unusual about that. Put him back where you found him and let's go!"

He turned again to continue his pacing and muttering, and Rose cleared her throat.

"Doctor, it's November."

"And?"

"And I haven't gone inside anyone's house."

"So?"

"Well, how did I end up holding a baby – who's hurt, by the way, since you're being thick – if I haven't borrowed one from someone?"

There was a beat of silence in which the Doctor stared into space.

"Oh! Oh, right. I'm an idiot," he said as he spun to Rose's side.

The Doctor frowned and leaned over her shoulder to peer down into the tiny face fringed in wild black hair. A cut in the shape of a lightning bolt on the child's forehead oozed blood at its edges, and the green eyes scrunched in clear discomfort.

"Hello," the Doctor said with a reassuring smile, though his brows rose in surprise or excitement.

Rose couldn't tell which as he held the sonic screwdriver over the baby's face.

"Now that's not what I was expecting," he said, continuing his readings.

The blonde huffed and rolled her eyes.

"You know that thing where you withhold information everyone else needs to hear?"

"Hush. I'm getting to it," he stood up straight to look around again at number four and its meticulously maintained lawn and flowerbeds.

He flicked a dial on his screwdriver, spun in a circle, and grinned at her.

"So the good news is it _is_ a baby, not someone or something pretending to be a baby. Better news, whoever left him here wrapped him in an electromagnetic heat field so he's plenty warm. Best news is he's definitely emitting the same signature we've been chasing, so that means whatever he is indicates it's not all bad. No baby's born a murderer or hurricane, after all."

"But that means there's more like him," Rose said. "And I'm sure grown-up versions are just as capable of murder as humans are."

"Yup," the Doctor confirmed, popping the 'p'. "But you're missing the interesting bit."

The blonde's face split into a slow grin.

"Heat field. Where's the tech that's making it?" she asked, re-examining the baby's swaddling.

The baby whimpered as her fingers gently poked at the folds of his blanket.

"Exactly," the Doctor said as if it were the most exciting discovery since they left the TARDIS. "There's no tech. Nothing I can recognize, anyway. I haven't been stumped in _ages_."

"You're enjoying this too much," Rose sighed. "So what now? We can't exactly keep going with this little bloke."

"Of course not," her partner said with a roll of his eyes. "We've got to find out why someone would put a perception filter and an inexplicable heat-pocket around a very not-quite-human kid in boring old suburbia."

Rose grinned and looked over her shoulder at the front door.

"Want to find out what's behind door number four?"

"You read my mind, Rose Tyler."

The Doctor stood straight, smoothed the front of his pinstripe suit, and rapped hard on the drab brown door.

Petunia Dursley had been experiencing an especially odd morning, which was the direct opposite of the type of day she was accustomed to having.

All morning, the strangest reports had been on the news. The delightful routine of breakfast and tea, complete with an early-morning romp with her darling husband, had been marred by the unexpected visit from her little boy at the bedroom door. Now, someone dared to disturb her as she finished mixing up the dough for her dear husband's fresh buttered scones.

This, of course, interrupted the only normalcy of her day, but, ever the impeccable house wife, she wiped the displeasure from her face and dusted her hands on her apron as she opened the door.

"Yes, may I help you?"

A hand held the identification for a Detective Inspector John Smith of Scotland Yard in front of her face. She barely registered the information listed there when its owner whipped it away.

"Yes, in fact, I think you can," said a slender, dark-haired, cheery-faced young man.

A blonde woman stood slightly behind him, cradling a whimpering bundle to her chest.

"My partner, Rose Tyler, temporary baby minder," the Doctor explained as he caught Petunia Dursley's gaze again. "Do you recognize said child?"

Petunia backed away from the door to allow them entry, her eyes scanning the street for onlookers. Rose turned slightly and Petunia blanched. Lily's eyes stared up at her anxiously from a tiny, unfamiliar face.

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a look as the bony woman crossed her arms over her chest and swallowed before speaking.

"I'm afraid I haven't an idea what you're talking about. And I don't appreciate you interrupting my morning over some… someone's bad decisions," she choked as she turned back toward her scones.

"That's not what your face says," the Doctor said, not unkindly. "You're not in any trouble, Mrs…"

"-Dursley," she said automatically. "A-and I don't care I just- You have to get him out of here."

The detective inspector took the boy from Rose's arms and joined Mrs Dursley in the kitchen. Rose followed behind him, and for a moment, neither spoke while Petunia stared into the pale face, which was rapidly turning pinker as the babe squirmed and fussed.

"I just want to understand what's going on here," the man reassured her. "Then we'll take the kid and see he's looked after. You're clearly not responsible for this."

Petunia looked between the two intruders and sighed.

"He's… he's my sister's son, I think. But she's not the sort of person who'd-" she took a deep breath and looked away from the child's face. "Lily would not leave her son in my care. And she wouldn't leave him on my doorstep. She knows how little I care for her kind."

"Is it possible he was kidnapped then?" Rose wondered. "Someone had to put him out there."

The housewife scoffed.

"No one would have been able to take her baby. She would have stopped them."

The woman looked away, turning down the hall to retreat to the parlour. Her uninvited guests followed her to sit on the obviously new and expensive lounge set.

"What's so special about her that she'd stop someone really determined and really dangerous?" the Doctor inquired a little dismissively.

The woman sneered.

"That isn't the word I would use, Mr. Smith. She wasn't 'special.' She was wrong. And any spawn of hers is bound to be the same, what with its father being the same."

The baby started crying pitiful little wails as the grown-ups spoke, and his pudgy fists managed to wriggle free of his snug blanket. The Doctor's bushy brows drew together at the yellowed envelope clutched between the little boy's fingers. He pulled it free with a gentle tug before handing the baby off to Rose while Petunia looked on with pursed lips.

"He'll wake my Dudders," she hissed as the boy's cries grew in volume.

Rose sent the other woman a glare and started rocking the child again.

"He's hungry and scared," the Doctor said without looking up from the letter. "He wants his mum."

The blonde sucked in her lower lip and clutched the baby closer.

"Tell us what's going on, Mrs Dursley," she said evenly. "I can see you're scared of him – don't deny it, I've seen that look before – but we can't help if you don't tell us what this is all about."

Petunia Dursley weighed her options. The two strangers in her living room looked nothing like the uniformed police or suited inspectors she had seen. Mr. Smiths' ridiculous trainers seemed to speak to her suspicion, too. She looked from one face to the other, then back at the crinkled eyes of her sister set in the strange face.

"You're not law enforcement," she said slowly. "Who are you?"

Rose glanced to her partner, who still seemed engrossed in the letter, then answered in clear, if somewhat frustrated tones as she attempted to calm the wriggling mass in her arms.

"I'm Rose Tyler and he's the Doctor," she said. "We work for the government under Pete Tyler's auspices investigating unusual events throughout the united lands of Greater Britain, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland."

Mrs Dursley's knuckles turned white clutching her skirt just over her knees as she deliberated. She finally looked up them with angry tears on her thin, drawn face.

"_Freaks, _the lot of them," she spat, wiping angrily at her eyes. "Lily ran off to be one of them when we were younger, and it just got worse and worse, and then she married that scamp Potter. I knew he'd get her killed! I just knew it!"

"What?" the Doctor frowned, looking up in complete bewilderment at the outburst.

"–Stupid, stupid girl! I warned her! I told her what would happen if she kept doing it…"

"Doing _what_, Mrs Dursley?" Rose interrupted.

The older woman choked around a half-formed sob.

"I'm not allowed to say. _Their_ government would take my memories if I told anyone. Lily told me so."

Rose and the Doctor shared a look.

"Then tell us what you can," he said a little more gently, holding the austere woman in his intense gaze. "Let's start over. How about telling us the boy's name?"

"Harry," she answered after a moment. "Lily wrote me in July after he was born."

"Harry Potter?" Rose confirmed, juggling the boy a little to press the record function on her phone.

"Harry James," Petunia admitted. "After my dad and-"

She sniffled.

"And her husband's."

"So you can't tell us specifically about your sister's kind," the Doctor asked, continuing the line of inquiry. "But can you tell us if there are a lot of them?"

The woman looked away, worrying her skirt again.

"This, for example–" The Doctor held up the letter. "–was written by someone named Dumbledore, with lots of references to others. And you mentioned a government. How big of a community is it?"

"Smaller than ours," Mrs Dursley snapped, "Or it wouldn't be secret still, would it? People would still believe in all that- That _wrongness_. They're all freaks of nature, living in unnaturalness and sin and hiding like criminals. And they know it's wrong too! How else could something like London have happened yesterday, or-"

Rose scowled.

"So you knew what was going on? How many more are there who had an idea what was happening and didn't say anything?"

"Rose."

"Do you know how many people have died because we've been on this bloody goose hunt? The Doctor could have stopped this ages ago if you just-"

"Rose!" the Doctor said more sharply.

The blonde cut off her tirade. Their unwilling hostess had stopped her bitter crying and glared at them now with clear fury on her thin face.

"Out!" she shrieked. "Out! I never wanted anything to do with her kind, and that bloody headmaster can't make me shelter her brat!"

She stood as heavy footsteps thundered overhead and down the stairs. A huge man with several chins and a bristling moustache squeezed through the parlour doorway to glare at the two people through watery blue eyes.

"Is there a problem, dear?" he grunted.

"No," the Doctor said stiffly. "We were just leaving. We really hope you know enough to stay out of trouble, though."

Petunia sniffed disdainfully.

"No, really," the tall stranger said as he tucked a blue journal and the letter into a pocket of his brown duster. "This letter says the carnage isn't over. And you probably know better than we do what _they're_ capable of, and obviously they know where you and your husband and son are."

The woman paled and Mr Dursley stomped toward them menacingly.

"You heard my wife! Get out! We don't need whatever it is you're selling!"

"Shut up," Rose snapped at him. "Grown-ups are talking."

"Run, Mrs Dursley. If you know what's good for you, run. Because if this Dumbledore person's right," he said, tapping the pocket into which the letter had disappeared, "– then you're all at risk. I disabled the protections he put around the house by accident, and I can't put them back up. There's nothing left to stop them. Just pack up and get out of here. The explosion yesterday isn't the worst we've seen while investigating whoever's been responsible for these last few years."

And with that, the Doctor slipped an arm through Rose's, and a moment later the door of number four, Privet Drive slammed behind them.

"What does it say?" the blonde asked as they took off down the street at a more leisurely pace, Harry still crying in her arms.

"Nothing particularly useful, really," the Doctor sighed. "A lot of doom and gloom, refers to the kid's orphaning on Halloween and describes the dangers I mentioned."

"So do you think-"

"Godrick's Hollow? Yes, I do. But I don't think we should investigate this directly any further."

"Why not? What if it happens again? What about the explosion, and all those murders!"

The Doctor pulled Rose gently to a stop and wrapped her in his arms. He cradled her blonde head under his chin and buried his nose in her almond-scented hair.

"Because we're out of our league right now. I've finally worked out the flavour around him, and my screwdriver's finished with the analysis."

Rose huffed.

"And?"

"Human plus time vortex exposure. Like you, a little. And a lot like me – or, a lot like I was."

"What?" Rose frowned, staring at the little boy as he tried to tunnel deeper into the front of her shirt. "Time Lord?"

"Got it in one. Almost. Not-not-human, not-quite-Time Lord. If there's any chance that any remnant of my people survived in this reality…"

"You can't risk mucking it up until you know more," Rose sighed. "And something in that letter makes you think you've got the time to do it."

"Yes."

They were quiet for a while. The sun had properly risen by then, and a few people went about their morning routines: getting into cars for the daily commute, mowing the lawn, seeing children off to school. Rose set the pace on their trek out of Magnolia Crescent, and eventually, her gait lulled the child to sleep again, although the evidence of his continued distress still moistened the front of her shirt, and his fist clung to the fabric even when he started to softly snore.

"What do we do now?" Rose asked once the profile of their boxy, dark blue car came into view.

She kicked a pebble, which skipped obligingly down the pavement to disappear into someone's lawn. The Doctor shrugged.

"I'm going to do a few more scans and give him to Torchwood's relocation people. They can put him in with some of the other kids we've encountered from interesting situations. Nothing like alien playmates to make a childhood interesting."

"But you can't. He can't be much older than one, and he's obviously terrified."

"He'll adapt," the Doctor said brightly. "Move on. Just like all humans do."

They turned the corner onto Magnolia Road, and a few more paces brought them to their vehicle. Rose slipped into the driver's seat while the Doctor got into the back with the baby slumped against him. The engine started up with a push of a button, and Rose eased it out of the unremarkable neighbourhood.

"Why can't we keep him?" she asked as she pulled onto the motorway.

"He's not a pet."

Hazel-green eyes glared at him through the rear-view mirror.

"You let Jack and Mickey hang around and you won't let me have a Harry?"

"It's not him, it's just-"

"I don't want to give him away."

The Doctor frowned back at her as he adjusted the baby in his lap, weaving his long fingers around his pudgy middle.

"Our life is a little dangerous for a baby," he said even as he nuzzled the boy's head.

"His parents were murdered, and he doesn't have anyone else," Rose insisted. "We can protect him, figure out what he is, and give him a life where he won't have to worry about _hiding_ any of that."

"We're not even married," the Doctor protested. "Isn't that what humans do? Get married first before they have and or adopt children?"

"You're not all human, and I'm certainly not traditional," she scoffed. "Besides, we've already done everything else people supposedly wait for 'till after all that."

The Doctor cleared his throat and blushed.

"We travel a lot."

"We'll buy him a car seat," Rose countered, and the corners of her lips puckered slightly in frustration. "I want him."

The Doctor sniffed Harry's downy hair, and sighed when the little boy cuddled closer in his sleep.

"He smells like talcum powder and honey," he commented idly.

Rose didn't answer.

"Are you sure you, really, really want to keep him?"

"Don't you?" Rose smiled at him.

Bushy brows drew together in a long, calculating look while he shifted the child's weight in his arms.

"Whoever did his parents in might come after him, too. They didn't spare any of the other kids we came across," he said finally. "Other not-not-humans. Do you really want to risk it?"

The car sped up as it joined the morning traffic headed toward London. She looked back at little Harry and her frowning Doctor.

"You said that no matter how long we live, you'll always regret Bad Wolf Bay, right?"

He met her gaze in the mirror and sighed.

"Of course. That's why the other me left _me_ with you."

"So you'd never want me to feel that way, right?"

"Yes."

He looked away.

"If we leave him, I'll never forgive myself," Rose said flatly, her eyes pinning the man she'd travelled with since she was nineteen.

The Doctor turned down to the tiny face nestled amongst the blankets and closed his eyes against the bright emerald blinking up at him from a sleepy face.

"Well, then, Rose Tyler, I think it's time I asked you a question."

"What question's that, then?"

The Doctor dug into his breast pocket for a moment, then held up a small velvet box so Rose could see it in the mirror.

"Will you marry me?"

The tires screeched as they narrowly avoided the concrete median.

"Are you serious?" Rose shouted. "You had to ask me now?"

Horns blared around them while she manoeuvred the swerving car back into its original lane.

"Always. Will you marry me, Rose Tyler?"

"Seven years! Seven bloody years and you ask me while I'm driving down the motorway with a baby in the backseat?"

"Shh. You'll upset him," the Doctor mumbled as the Harry wiggled. "Will you? I've been waiting for the right moment."

"You've been carrying around a ring in that coat somewhere for how long?"

"Since he left me here."

Rose smiled and shook her head, her eyes shining with moisture.

"But why? I mean, of course, yes, but why? We've been fine without so far."

"Well, if we're going to raise a baby we ought to give him a proper –"

Rose let out a whoop of joy.

"Oh my God, we're getting married!"

"Well, that's what generally happens when a boy, well, sort of boy, meets a girl and-"

Honks and horns and cursing rang across the motorway again as Rose skipped three lanes of traffic to pull off the nearest exit and stop, screeching, by a convenience store.

"Come here, and kiss me!"

"Anytime, Rose Tyler."

* * *

**5 November 2002**

"What do you mean, you're adopting? You're not even married!"

"Yes, we're doing that, too."

Rose smiled again, and tilted her left hand to catch her ring in the light. It was a delicate thing that looked more grown than poured, cut or moulded. Tendrils of burnished gold metal, so similar to the beams in the TARDIS's control room, wound around her finger in a narrow woven band to curl tenderly around a round, dark blue stone that sparkled and winked with tiny pinpricks of light from within when it caught the light.

"But your little brother's just barely started primary school!" Jackie whinged. "And what's your dad going to say about all this? You know he's running for a spot in Parliament!"

"So I've had plenty of practice, Mum. It's time. More than time. And you know Dad won't care. So will you or won't you?"

The other woman huffed, and Rose pictured Jackie crossing her right arm under her left elbow as she held the phone to her ear – the pose she always took with that eloquent puff of air.

"Won't I what?" she finally snapped.

"Help me plan the thing."

"Well of course I will so long as I get some real say-so."

Rose rolled her eyes.

"When have you ever not, Mum?" she laughed. "Anyway, why are you upset? I thought you wanted the Doctor to ask me ages ago."

"It's just the principle of the thing," Jackie explained as if it were the simplest concept in the world. "What's my grandbaby's name again?"

"Harry James Potter, but we've been calling him Jemmy."

"And you just found him?"

"Yeah. Some bloody horrible excuse for a person left him on a doorstep. We just happened to be walking by, and we saw him."

"Who'd leave him outside? It's November!"

"Yeah, I know. It's a wonder he wasn't half frozen when we found him."

She didn't mention the heat field. After all that mess with the disappearing planets and the almost-annihilation, Jackie had asked to be kept as out-of-the-loop as possible when it came to extraterrestrial or any other unusual activity.

"And there's no family?"

"Not any who want him, as far as we can tell," Rose sighed. "We can't find his records or his parents' wills, either."

It had been some of the most frustrating couple of days all her life, trying to hunt down the elusive details of the little boy's birth. Especially considering they weren't doing any of it in person, just as an extra precaution.

The subject of her worries sat on the kitchen floor nearby with pots and pans spread around him. His pudgy little hands groped in the air, and Rose passed him a wooden spoon from the countertop. Harry immediately went to work 'stirring' the pots with exuberant banging sounds.

"What the hell is that ruckus?" Jackie yelled, much to her daughter's displeasure.

She started on a rant – Rose wasn't sure what about, really – and she quickly took measures to escape for the sake of preserving her right eardrum.

"Sorry, Mum! Got to go!"

Harry went on making music. Rose smiled at him and went back to sonicking the cupboards within the toddler's reach.

"Wouldn't you know? The Doctor finally figured out a setting for wood," she told the baby. "Just so you don't go getting into too much trouble in here."

Harry went on banging things.

"Rose? What in the world is that?"

The Doctor, clad in his customary blue suit and trainers, came around the corner. Harry babbled happily at him.

"Jemmy wants to know where the cat is. Do we have a cat?" he asked before she could answer.

The blonde looked over her shoulder in bemusement.

"No. We could get one. Baby boy and a cat. Sound's almost proper, doesn't it?"

"One mortal Time Lord, one beautiful blonde, one not not-human boy, and a cat. That's proper?"

"You know, Jack told me your core trait was 'sassy' once. I think he's right."

"Sassy, am I?" The Doctor winked. "How's the tyke doing?"

"Well, he's gone through several nappies, more than a few bottles, a jar of crushed peas, and a lot of Cheerios."

"I've finished toddler-proofing all the cabinets and cupboards upstairs in the other rooms, installed a baby gate, fixed a rolling and locking step for both sinks, set up a car-seat, built a play-pen-"

The Doctor took a deep breath and frowned.

"Why do you want to pen the baby?"

Rose straightened and put her hands on her hips with a suggestive smirk.

"Because there'll be times that we need him out from underfoot."

"Right, okay," he grinned and took a deep breath. "-Put together a high chair, installed a swing on the balcony, phoned the boys and girls at Torchwood, went round to the neighbours for toys and books, and I may or may not have built a tree house."

The Doctor gave Rose a crinkly-eyed smile and a wink, twirled trusty screwdriver, and holstered the device in his recently acquired tool belt.

"What's he need a tree house for?" she laughed after a beat of processing. "He's not even two yet. And where in the world did you find room for one? We've only got the communal garden."

"Kids grow fast. Especially human kids. And I got permission, of course."

"What about not not-human kids?"

"Well. He's a bit bigger than a human one-and-four-month-old, and he speaks better, but other than that I think he's still in the normal range."

"What else did the scans say?"

The Doctor's eyebrows drew together.

"He's definitely a little generator for not not-humany things. I'll be running a few tests once he's fully recovered from cranial trauma."

"Please, don't remind me," Rose huffed. "If I ever find out who left him there I'm going to ring their stupid neck."

"I'll help."

Harry stopped playing again to toddle over to the Doctor, who had taken a seat on a floor pouf by the kitchen entry.

"Spoo!" he merrily yelled.

"Yes that's a spoon, Jemmy boy. But what's it for?"

"Staaaaaaang!"

"Yes, stirring. Maybe you can help Rose and me stir up some cocoa later?"

"Babies can't have cocoa," she countered. "It's full of caffeine."

"Not real cocoa. Kiddie cocoa."

"If you say so."

"Co-co!" Harry squealed. "Mummy?"

His little face crumpled as he grabbed the Doctor's pant leg to steady himself. He bounced a little on his little pink knees until the much bigger man pulled him up into his lap.

"Mummmm…"

"Sorry chap, she's not here."

Rose sighed and bit her lower lip.

"Mummy!" Harry wailed.

The Doctor gathered the now crying Harry to his chest. Rose joined them both to stroke the child's downy black locks as he dissolved into pitiful cries.

"I know, Jemmy. I know."

* * *

**14 June 2004**

"Doctor, what're you doing?" Rose called, pausing half way between the pantry and the sink.

"I dunno. I think I'm watching telly?" he shouted back.

Rose blinked and eyed the space above her countertop in disbelief.

"Well, there's a floating biscuit in here."

She frowned as it slowly made its way through the air and around the corner.

"What do you mean a floating biscuit?"

The Doctor poked his head around the sitting room wall, his eyebrows raised in bemusement. A chocolate chip biscuit floated out of the kitchen and past him into Harry's waiting hands.

"Ah. I see," the Doctor laughed, turning to plop himself down on the carpet beside the toddler. "What's up Jemmy?"

"I wann'd bis-kit," Harry said, smiling around his stolen snack.

Rose couldn't quite hold back her laugh at the crumbs that suck to the child's hands and face.

"Yes, yes I can see that." The Doctor whipped out his screwdriver and hooted. "This is brilliant!"

"Did he do that?"

Harry giggled and wrinkled his nose as he finished his treat. He seemed surprised that there wasn't another to follow it, and found Rose's face with a pout.

"Wanna bis-kit!"

"Sorry, Jemmy," the Doctor said, putting the device away again. "Can't give you one. You've got to get it yourself."

Harry frowned, his little mouth puckering as he looked between the adults.

"No, don't look at me like that," the Doctor reprimanded. "You just got yourself one. Rose won't let me take one from the tin, so you'll have to do it again."

"Doctor, don't encourage theft."

"Hush. I want to see," he whispered as he adjusted the setting on the screwdriver.

It whirred and hummed as Harry screwed up his face until his cheeks flushed. Rose turned and gasped as the lid to the cookie tin shot off and hit the underside of the cabinets overhanging the countertop with a clang. A moment later, and another biscuit sailed from its open mouth, through the arched kitchen door, and into Harry's pudgy little hands.

Rose scowled. The Doctor grinned and lifted baby Harry into the air, who giggled adorably as the part Time Lord spun him around.

"Aha! Oh this is wonderful!" he crowed. "Molto bene!"

Rose huffed and joined her husband in the sitting room.

"You know, just because he _can_ doesn't mean we should encourage that sort of behaviour," she grumbled. "Kids are supposed to ask for things. Grown-ups are supposed to say 'no' a lot."

The Doctor laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Who said we're grown-ups? And they're sugar-free, anyhow, right? This is fantastic! What he's doing is grabbing electrons, accelerating them, and bending them to his will."

His wife took a moment to unravel that.

"He's controlling the electrons in the air to-"

"Sneak a pre-supper snack, yes."

"That's just-"

"We've a very talented son, Mrs Tyler."

"Oh, stop with that. Are you ever going to tell me your name?"

"Nope."

The Doctor popped the 'p' sound to make the word nearly two syllables long. The blonde gave him a very familiar glare, and her husband wisely sobered to answer her question properly.

"It'd put the other me at jeopardy. You never know. Jemmy's capable of bending the very matter of this world to his will," he explained. "Maybe people like him can read minds, too. I don't know how to train you two to keep others out, so I can't say, sorry."

"The invisible war again?" Rose sighed. "I thought we were done investigating that."

"Actively, yes. Wouldn't want to risk our boy," he agreed. "Definitely something or somebody dangerous after the little guy, if we're to believe that letter."

"It's been months. If someone were after him, they would have shown up by now."

"Well our friends at Torchwood haven't seen anything around Number Four, but that could just be because they _can't_ see anything."

"Should we be worried?"

Harry laughed as his adopted mummy joined him and the Doctor on the carpet. He climbed into her lap to cling to her shirt.

"We're parents. We'll always worry 'till the day we're so old we wrinkle up and dissolve."

* * *

**20 September 2007**

Harry "Jemmy" James Potter-Tyler stared at the toes of his shoes. Around him, adults yelled and panicked and yelled some more. They sat around a large, mahogany desk in the head teacher's office, where he'd found himself after a particularly trying day at his primary school. He shifted in his seat and sat on his hands as he focused on breathing evenly.

It hadn't been his fault, after all. He had just been playing with Jenny on the swings, and the Dursley boy had pushed his best friend off. He would have just called a teacher, but Jenny had tried to take her swing back and got a punch in the face for her efforts. Dad always told him violence didn't solve much of anything, but Harry couldn't _always _control the odd things that happened around him. Well, at least not consistently.

"Please, I-" he began again, for what felt like the hundredth time in a half hour.

"Mr Tyler, you will be quiet!" Ms Candice Ruth, the deputy head teacher of Homefield Preparatory School, commanded.

She ran a hand over her frizzy gray hair, and her dark eyes narrowed at her charge.

"Are Mr Tyler's parents here yet?" Mrs Anderson, Harry's teacher demanded shrilly.

The boy shrunk in on himself further. He distracted himself by counting the number of buttons on his jumper, and, when he confirmed there were still only eight of them, by thinking of different words for its particular shade of yellow.

"Yes, we're here!" Rose cried, bursting through the door to join them.

She waddled a little bit, one hand cradling her heavily pregnant middle. Harry squirmed in discomfort and not a little worry, then anxiety as a man in a long brown overcoat and a well-cut suit followed after her, carrying a rucksack over his shoulder. They surveyed the room, and Harry ducked his head further to avoid their gazes.

"What's this, then? Why are you all ganging up on my son?" she demanded after taking stock of the women towering over her child.

The teachers seemed taken aback. They looked to one another before the injured party stepped forward.

"Madam-" Mrs Anderson said primly.

"Mrs Anderson, you've changed your hair," the Doctor interrupted, indicating the dark azure locks framing her flushed face.

Harry shuffled his feet nervously and shifted in his chair.

"That's exactly what this is about, Doctor and Mrs Tyler," the deputy head teacher sighed.

"Well, I think it's lovely," the child's father smiled. "My favourite colour, in fact."

Mrs Anderson gave a huff and crossed her arms over her chest. Harry very hesitantly peeked through his fringe at his parents.

"It's blue!" the teacher finally shouted in indignation.

Rose glared at the woman whose voice had started to grate on her already frayed nerves. She rubbed a hand over her distended stomach.

"Yes, and?" she snapped, waddling forward to put a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. "I fail to see what the problem is, and why my kid's cringing. Did he do something wrong?"

"Mr Tyler is entirely responsible for this mess!"

"I am not!" Harry cried, turning to his mum with wide eyes. "Anyway Mrs Anderson was really horrible to me, and Jenny was hurt, and she just wouldn't listen!"

It was true. Dudley Dursley, the school's newest student – who he heard rumoured to have been kicked out of his last two schools for fighting, anyway – had started things, and Harry _hadn't_ hurt him on purpose, despite how the larger boy hit his friend in the mouth, but Mrs Anderson hadn't listened. She'd just started screaming at him after she saw the great blonde whale rolling about in the dirt, never mind that Jen was crying and had a bloodied lip.

"Jemmy, sweetheart, please wait a moment," Rose said firmly, giving her son a reassuring, if stern, glance.

She levelled her gaze at the teachers, who shifted uncomfortably beneath the heavily pregnant, angry woman's scrutiny.

"Excuse me, Mrs Tyler, but we have it on camera," Ms Ruth offered, gesturing to a computer screen on her desk. "Mr Dursley clearly hit Miss Richards – that's not up for debate - But then he's suddenly on his back, and then Mrs Anderson is reprimanding Mr Tyler for fighting with Mr Dursley. The next moment, Mrs Anderson's hair goes blue."

"And you expect me to believe my son did that? What about Jennifer?"

"It wasn't her fault, either!" Harry insisted.

The administrator shook her head and ran her fingers over the kinky grey curls valiantly attempting to escape her elegant chignon.

"It's very obviously retaliation. We can't just discount these things anymore. I mean, what with all those mad Alien invaders, massive unexplained activity, and whatnot. I'm not surprised to see kids able to do odd things, too. And your son isn't the first to have done something like this," she insisted. "Anyway, that's not even taking into account Doctor Tyler's proclivity toward unusual trouble, which has undoubtedly affected Mr Tyler. Don't think I've forgotten the incident with the purple polka-dot virus."

Rose and the Doctor shared a guilty look, and the deputy head teacher smiled at them both gently. She shook her head apologetically.

"I'm sorry for shouting, Mr Tyler," she said softly, directing the words at Harry.

He nodded subtly.

"Believe you me, I shall be speaking with Mrs Anderson about her behaviour as well, but we have a no-tolerance policy for any sort of fighting here. That applies to turning teachers' hair blue and pushing boys without touching them. Also, not once did you deny doing it, love."

She leaned back against the edge of her desk and crossed her arms over her chest. The tidy lapels of her blazer puckered a little under the restriction, and her face took on a stern cast.

"Doctor and Mrs Tyler, we've no choice but to put Mr Tyler on a mandatory two day suspension. I will be discussing Mr Dursley's behaviour with his parents shortly. Rest assured, he's getting a far harsher punishment."

Mrs Anderson smirked. Rose glared at her as she felt Harry shudder under her hand. She gave him a gentle squeeze as the Doctor caught her eye.

"Ah well, then there's only one thing for it, isn't there?" he said, clapping his hands.

The other women frowned at his apparent dismissal of he tension lying heavily over the room.

"What's that?" Mrs Anderson demanded.

"Is everyone involved in the incident here?" he continued, as if he hadn't heard her.

"We decided it'd be best if we kept this to ourselves at least until we sorted things out," the school administrator said diplomatically. "Miss Richards was clearly a victim in all this, and the other children think it was a joke on Mrs Anderson's part."

"Then this is an easy fix," Rose concluded levelly. "Jemmy, darling?"

"Yes, Mum?" he said a little forlornly.

"It's time for this to be forgotten. And please, do turn Mrs Anderson's hair back to normal. And don't think this is the end of it."

"Yes, Mum."

Harry's toes tapped a surly tattoo against the polished wooden floor, but he sat a little straighter as he screwed up his face in concentration.

There was a flash of light, a low whooshing sound, then a beat of silence as the Doctor moved to join Rose behind their son. Harry stood and gladly took the Doctor's hand when he offered it.

Mrs Anderson rubbed her forehead and frowned, her hair restored to sandy brown. Ms Ruth yawned and blinked. The monitor behind them buzzed with snow where surveillance footage had played.

"I'm sorry, what were we talking about?" she asked.

Rose smiled politely.

"You were just letting us know Mr Dursley's been causing trouble again, but you cut off mid-sentence. Are you well?"

"Yes, yes," Ms Ruth said dazedly. "I just wanted you to know he's been warned twice before, so he'll be suspended as of Monday morning. Another incident and he'll be excluded. I'm sorry to have had to call you in. Mr Tyler was rather upset."

"Thank you so much," the Doctor smiled. "We appreciate you keeping us up to speed."

"Yes. Thank you, Doctor and Mrs Tyler. You're free to take Harry home for the rest of the day, if you like. We have the rest of his assignments here."

Mrs Anderson frowned as she handed them a folder, and Rose gave her a beatific smile.

"Wonderful," she agreed. "I think we will."

Harry followed his parents as they filed out of the posh office, down the hall, and to the little blue car parked crookedly by the curb.

The Doctor helped Rose, who had a little trouble squeezing into the front passenger seat.

"I am ready to explode," she complained. "I tell you, I'm a bloody planet. How many days do I have left before we're officially overdue? Two? It had better not be another week or I want a refund."

"I'd bet on sooner," the Doctor hummed once he'd fastened the seatbelt over his wife's lap. "Though who did you think you'd ask a refund from?"

"You, obviously."

"I've been wishing it along, too," Harry said softly from the backseat, stopping the Doctor from saying something cheeky and ultimately disastrous.

Free from the tender mercies of his teachers, the child's mood had rather transformed in the short walk between the deputy head teacher's office and their car.

"Don't think you've gotten out of a conversation," the Doctor chided lightly. "We've spoken about your psychokinetic abilities before."

"I really didn't mean to," Harry quickly defended. "Dursley hit Jen, and I got mad and _it_ happened, but Mrs Anderson didn't see anything before that, and she started yelling at me, and then I accidentally made her hair blue. She didn't even check on Jen and she was _crying_."

"That's understandable, Harry, but Mrs Anderson wasn't outside of her rights to give you a talking to," the Doctor reminded him. "She definitely _should_ have seen to Jen first and talked to you before scolding, but you've got to take the time to explain yourself without loosing your cool. That's for humans."

"Oi, your pregnant wife says you're on the sofa if you keep up the human bashing," Rose barked. "You're one of us now, too."

"Humans except for your mum, then," he amended.

"And please keep in mind we don't want to, or like wiping people's memories. We make UNIT and Torchwood file paperwork whenever they do, so you have to be responsible," Rose added. "Rather we never gave anyone cause to forget in the first place."

Harry's head slowly drooped again beneath the weight of his mum's disappointment. The car went quiet as it hummed its way onto the street and into afternoon traffic. He watched miserably as trees and buildings passed outside his window, lingering on kids a little younger than him and their mums and dads.

"How come I'm different in the first place?" he muttered. "I don't want to be like this. Nobody at school likes me because they think I'm weird. They're all afraid of me, and they make fun of Jenny for liking me, too."

"Harry James Potter-Tyler, I won't have any of that," Rose said firmly as she strained to reach around her seat to pat him on the knee. "You're mine and you're perfect. And just like the Doctor, you'll grow up someday and use your differences to help people."

"Flatterer," the Doctor quipped. "Your mum's right though."

Harry smiled hesitantly, and Rose beamed at him. Her cheeks glowed prettily and Harry's chest felt like it swelled.

The car slowed.

"Why are we at the hospital?" he wondered, looking around in confusion.

"Your mum's water's broken and she hasn't even noticed."

"What?" Rose gasped before her features crumpled.

"Owwwwwww… Oh my GOD! Doctor!"

The Doctor winced and rushed out of his seat to help his wife.

"Time to meet your baby brother or sister!"

Harry grinned and unbuckled to help by grabbing his dad's rucksack 'go-bag', which had accompanied them since Rose's sixth month of pregnancy.

"I hope they like me."

Rose grunted as a nurse helped the Doctor manoeuvre her into a wheelchair.

"Of course they will," the Doctor smiled as he took the chair's handles and set off after the nurse. "You're going to be a big brother after all. And what do big brothers and little babies do best?"

"I don't know," Harry said, struggling to keep up as he held his mum's hand over the arm of the chair.

"Love and care for one another."

Nine and a half hours later, Harry curled up on the large bed beside his mother, who lay, sweaty and exhausted, against several pillows. She held a tiny bundle against her chest, in which nestled a very pink baby girl wrapped in a pink blanket. Wisps of ginger hair clung to her head and tiny, perfectly bowed lips made a little 'o' as her little hand clung to her big brother's finger.

"She's so small," Harry whispered. "What's her name?"

"We thought you could name her," the Doctor grinned.

A huge smile stretched across the child's face to match his father's proud mien. He perched on Rose's other side, his chest puffed out with one hand stroking her lank, sweat-darened hair.

"Really?" Harry's eyes softened as he looked into the little face. "What about Jenny?"

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a look.

"My daughter Jenny?" the man laughed.

"Jenny Renette?" Harry tested the name and smiled. "Like Madame de Pompadour and Jenny from school. She's my best mate. And Madame de Pompadour was really powerful, you said."

"Yes. But why would I want to name my daughter after a girl who kissed my husband?" Rose complained with a baleful glare at the man in question.

"Well, my baby sister should grow up to be really powerful, too, right? And kind."

Rose laughed and rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Jenny Renette it is," she conceded. "When did my six year old get so persuasive?"

"Daddy's teaching me," Harry told her.

Rose laughed tiredly and kissed the boy on the forehead.


	2. Owl Post

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

January 15, 2016 A/N: Only a few edits here (grammatical and small details), but worth a read if you're refreshing yourself.

* * *

Chapter Two: Owl Post

* * *

**20 July 2012**

"Faster, Harry!"

A toy lorry zoomed through the air, skidding off furniture and soaring high over breakables and knick-knacks as a little girl with bright red hair and wild freckles urged it on. She ran around the edges of the room, over the carpet, and under her mother's reading hammock after the toy while Rose watched over the top of her laptop from her spot within said hammock's cool embrace at the corner of the living room. She winced as the yellow lorry executed a perfect dive and figure eight around the light fixture before rolling to a stop on the carpet. Jenny Renette cheered.

"Can you make me fly? Please?" she begged her brother, who perched cross-legged on the well-worn sofa nearby.

The boy shot a look to his mother, who smiled indulgently and snapped her laptop closed.

"Not in here, you can't," she said lightly. "Remember the incident with the telly?"

"Yeah, but I'm much better at it now. I never drop anything anymore," Harry said defensively. "And I did fix it right after."

Rose sighed and stood to ruffle her son's impossibly unkempt hair. He gave her a broad smile that made his vibrant eyes twinkle with barely suppressed laughter.

"I don't know if you can fix yours sister if she falls, though, and I really don't want to find out."

Her children glanced to one another and back at her in perfect synchronicity.

"Please, Mum?" they chorused.

"Fine," Rose huffed with a shake of her head. "Outside though. The Doctor set up a perception filter around the garden, so you should be fine as long as you don't let her go too high. Over the swimming pool, please, just in case.

"All right, Jenny, let's go put on our costumes," the boy crowed, grinning as he took off up the stairs.

"No fair! You got a head start!" she complained.

"It's not a race!" Harry yelled back, his voice echoing down the stairs.

A few moments later, the two children barrelled down the stairs, Jenny in the lead, and out the sliding back door to jump noisily into the sun-warmed swimming pool. Rose followed them out with a paperback novel in hand and sunglasses on her nose to watch while Harry entertained his sister by levitating her a few feet over the swimming pool and dropping her back in. It did not take long for the game to devolve into a water fight. They screeched and laughed and Rose found herself reading less and less and laughing more and more, until she shimmied out of her jeans, unclipped her earrings, abandoned her sunglasses, and hurled herself, screaming and still clad in a tee shirt and pants, into the water with them.

Whereupon, the water fight became an all-out war as squirt guns and pool noodles became a part of their respective arsenals. Eventually, Rose and Jenny teamed up (Jenny on her mother's shoulders) against Harry, who, outnumbered and outgunned, had resorted to using his peculiar ability to pummel his mother and sister with random jets of water pulled from all directions.

It went on with increasing noise and rambunctiousness until the owl arrived.

It swooped over their heads and circled the garden to land imperiously upon back of a wrought iron terrace chair.

The children and Rose stared.

"It's an owl!" Jenny cried. She swam to the edge of the pool to get a better look. "And it's got a letter!"

Her mother laughed.

"I can't believe it. It's just like before."

Harry frowned as he pulled himself up out of the pool.

"You mean you've seen post-carrying owls before, Mum?"

"Yeah. Just before we found you, actually. Told you we were expecting something odd this month."

"You and Dad investigate alien and paranormal activity," he deadpanned. "I don't know if I know what odd looks like."

Rose laughed and took the steps out of the pool, ringing out her shirt as she went.

"Are you quoting someone?" she quipped.

"Don't think so," he shrugged. "Jenny, don't mess with it!"

His sister paused at the edge of the terrace and glared at her brother.

"I'm not stupid! I wasn't going to touch it."

"Oi. None of that, Jenny Renette," Rose scolded gently. "It's not nice to make mean assumptions. Your brother would never call or think you stupid. He shouldn't have shouted, but it was out of worry."

"Sorry Jen," Harry added sheepishly.

The little girl pouted and turned her glare onto her mother. Rose did not quite manage to fight down her smile at the child's impudence. The owl made an impatient screech at the woman, who still failed to take the letter, which it had shaken quite insistently, from its beak.

"I wondered how it got through," Harry mused. "Didn't Dad say the perception filter wouldn't let anything smarter than bugs in?"

Rose made a face and fumbled in the pockets of her discarded jeans to withdraw a silver metal card with shining yellow light at one end. She fiddled with it a moment, until it emitted a whirring, humming sound familiar to both children.

"Is that a sonic-" Harry frowned and eyed the device, "-Scanner?"

"Your dad calls it a sonic spanner," Rose said dryly.

"Ha ha."

"Sonic spanner scanner," Jenny sung, her frustration forgotten.

The owl looked on with an expression of clear boredom, having apparently dismissed the Homo sapiens before it as the inferior creatures they obviously were, considering the time it was taking them to accept a simple letter.

"Owl plus? That's weird."

The owl screed as if insulted.

"Fine. You want me to take the letter, hmm?"

As soon as Rose's fingers touched the missive's edge, the owl took off into the sky. They all watched it beat its wings against gravity until it caught an updraft and soared into the afternoon sunshine.

"I think I was just cheeked by a bird."

Harry and Jenny laughed. Rose smiled and turned the letter over in her hands. She held the sonic scanner's yellow end just above the letter's surface. Finding nothing worrisome, she turned to hand it to her son, who watched with clear curiosity on his open face.

"It's addressed to you, Jemmy," she said by way of explanation.

Harry turned it over eagerly to confirm what she said. Rose smiled as his eyebrows rose under his fringe, just like the Doctor's did when confronted with a surprise or mystery.

"What's going on?" Jenny asked. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"No. Just the usual weirdness that comes with being a Tyler, love," Rose said lightly. "Now why don't we get you dried off?"

Harry turned the envelope over in his hands as he read and re-read the address (Mr H. Potter, Second Bedroom, 45 The Gallop, Sutton, Surrey), and examined the shimmering green ink and red wax seal.

"Should-"

He looked up to find his mother on the other side of the garden, vigorously towelling Jenny's hair while the little girl squealed.

"Shall I go on and open it?" he called.

Rose swung her cackling daughter up into her arms to carry her upside-down toward the sliding back door.

"Give us a little help with drying, first? This one's too wiggly for towels, and mummy's lazy."

The boy held the letter away, wrinkled his nose, and concentrated. A second later, steam rose from his trunks, skin, and hair. Another moment, and Jenny and Rose found themselves engulfed in vapour before they stepped into the games room.

Harry followed them inside once the steam cleared from his horn-rimmed glasses and hopped up on a kitchen barstool. Rose gave him a questioning glance. He sniffed the envelope, and then licked the wax seal.

"Ew!" Jenny laughed.

"I can't believe you picked up that habit," Rose complained.

Harry shrugged.

"Tastes like the air does when I do my psychokinetic thing," he said as he ran his thumb over the raised seal. "We shouldn't wait for Dad?"

"He's with the Torchwood crowd in Dover until tomorrow, darling. We've been expecting something like this. Go ahead."

Harry nodded and slid his thumb under the flap of the envelope. The seal broke with a snap and he caught a whiff of old books, oil based ink, parchment, goose feathers, and–

"Cat?" he wondered aloud.

"Stop sniffing it and tell us what it says."

The young boy adjusted his glasses and pulled the thick letter from its uniquely addressed envelope.

"Hogwarts School of…"

Harry stared at the words. He reread them just to be sure, but no matter how many times he did, the wording refused to change.

"Go on then. What's it say?" Rose asked, excitement colouring her tone.

Harry looked up at his mother with wide eyes. Jenny bounced in her seat.

"What is it? What is it? Tell us Harry!"

"Hogwarts School of _Witchcraft_ and _Wizardry_," Harry breathed.

Rose blinked. By he expression, Harry mused she hadn't been expecting _that._ His mother's morphed from blankness to confused disbelief.

"What?"

"Harry's a witch!" Jenny crowed.

Harry held his letter in the air to prevent his sister from grabbing it out of his hands.

"What?" Rose gasped.

"Harry's a witch! Harry's a witch!"

The girl sung the words over and over, running around her brother as he tried to make his way toward the kitchen without tripping over her.

"Sorry, but, what?"

Rose shook her head and pulled a phone from her pocket. Her fingers flew across its screen, and she put it on the counter as the dial tone rang over the external speakers.

"Hello! Can't talk right now I'm-"

"Daddy," Jenny yelled, bouncing up and down by the counter. "Harry's a _witch!_"

A beat of silence followed the girl's interruption, followed by clear confusion.

"What?"

Rose smirked, her previous bewilderment replaced by amusement at her husband's unconscious echo. Jenny Renette had no such obstacle to explaining, however.

"Harry got a letter and it's from a school for witches!"

"Just what?"

Gunshots sounded hollowly over the speakers.

"Doctor?" Rose near-yelled, snatching the phone up again and hastily taking it off speaker.

She brought it to her ear while Harry's brow furrowed. He caught his sister to keep her from jumping around further and shot her a look.

The child frowned but stilled at the seriousness directed at her.

"You get the hell out of there!" she yelled. Then, "It can wait! He's fine!"

She leaned away from the phone as an ear-splitting squeal came out of the speaker.

"Fine!" she shrieked, her face darkening murderously.

Rose handed Harry the phone and cursed under her breath as she stomped around the counter to the stove. Her son looked after her anxiously. His eyebrows disappeared behind his fringe again.

"Just talk to your father," she snapped. "And tell him he's banned from the tree house when he gets back and sleeping on the bloody sofa."

"Okay…" Harry put the phone to his ear. "Mum say's your banned from the tree house and you're on the sofa."

"That's not fair!" the Doctor protested. "Everything's under control, now."

Harry laughed, and Rose grumbled something about stupid, stubborn Time Lords with a death wish and no apparent sense of self-preservation.

"So what's it say?"

"Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. In parentheses it says he's an Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand – I guess that's short for sorcerer – Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards."

"Really?"

Harry blinked and scanned the words again to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

"Yeah."

"Brilliant! Guess we know what human plus means, now," the Doctor said in a rush. "What else does it say?"

Harry read through the page once and flipped to the next one. His expression muddled as he progressed through each line.

"Why can't I just send you a photo?" he said after a moment. "It's pretty unbelievable, anyway."

"Because it's more fun over the phone and I'm curious to hear your reaction," the Doctor insisted. "Send me photos later."

"If you say so," Harry shrugged. "It says 'Dear Mr Potter' – Well, whoever they are, they don't know my whole name. Huh. '-We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.'"

Harry took a breath. His face slowly spread into a tentative smile. Jenny resumed dancing around the kitchen singing 'Harry's a Witch!' repeatedly while Rose dumped pasta into a pot of boiling water. She had stopped muttering, but now sent forbidding looks at the mobile. Harry shuddered to think what punishments she had in store for his reckless father.

"The second page is a list of equipment, books, and uniform kit. And apparently I can bring a pet."

"What sort of pet?"

"Owl, cat or toad."

"Well, wizards apparently send post with owls, so that'd probably be the best. Well, maybe not. I suppose they must have post offices if they have international confederations and schools, so if you wanted, you could have a cat. I assume you don't want a toad – I never met one I liked – though, I wonder what use they'd have? Interesting, the types of pets allowed, might be significant," the Doctor rambled.

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing.

"Does it say where the shops are?"

Harry scanned the letter again.

"No. Just to send them an owl by my birthday."

"Hmm," he hummed. "Well, I'll catch an early lift home. Put me on speaker."

Harry put the phone back on the counter and caught Jenny about the waist as she ran by. She giggled as he lifted and set her on a barstool. He gave her a couple cloves of garlic to peel and got started on the rest, which Rose had left out for them.

"What now?" Rose harrumphed. "I'm trying to make tea."

She popped a tray of frozen meatballs into the oven as she spoke and started chopping tomatoes as soon as the door clanged shut.

"I promise everything's fine over here, so stop that," the Doctor sighed, his voice made a bit tinny by the speaker. I'm supposed to be the rude one in this relationship. Anyway, that's _not_ what's important right now."

Rose rolled her eyes.

"Harry, do you want to have the most amazing adventure of our collective experiences?"

The boy looked up from his small pile of peeled garlic.

"Better than traveling through time and space in the TARDIS?" he asked dubiously. "Seeing Led Zeppelin live when they _weren't_ drunk or high, and saving the universe?"

"Well, _maybe_ not, but that's the beauty of this situation! It _could_ be," he exclaimed. "Back when your mum and I found you, I thought the readings we picked up looked Time Lord-y. For all we know, you could be a subspecies. Humans and Time Lords are DNA compatible anyhow, so maybe-"

"You think _wizards_ are part Time Lord?"

The incredulity in Harry's voice rang unmistakably, even over the phone.

"Who knows? Could be anything. It's wonderful, isn't it?"

Harry looked at his mother and sister, both of whom watched him: the first with amusement and frustration, the second with unadulterated excitement.

"Do you seriously think I'm a wizard or witch or whatever?" he asked his family at large.

"The universe is made wonderful by mystery, Harry," his father assured him. "Science or magic – Same thing, different terminology and technique. Doesn't change who you are."

Rose hid a smile at her son's suddenly misty-eyed look.

"So you think I should go?" he finally asked once the tightness in his throat abated.

"There are some other things we want to talk to you about, first, but of course I do! It's a school, after all. How dangerous could it be?"

Harry looked at his mother, who met his gaze over the top of the counter. She gave him a nod and a small smile.

"Okay. I think I'd like to, if that's all right with you. It'd be nice to not hide my abilities anymore."

"Brilliant! Fantastic! Put your mum on and go help with dinner."

Rose stepped forward and scooped up the mobile. Harry hopped off the stool and went to the stove while Jenny grabbed a head of lettuce and a hard plastic lettuce knife. She started shredding it methodically into uneven bits of salad.

They worked – Harry with excitable twitchiness and Jenny cheerfully – while Rose wove around them to handle the potentially injurious bits, her head cocked to one side as she carried on a conversation with her husband. Twenty minutes later, they sat around the table with steaming heaps of spaghetti on their plates. Jenny wore an apron and perched on an overstuffed cushion, as she was still prone to dropping things on herself and had not reached her next growth spurt, with her elbows on the table. Harry slowly twirled noodles around his fork and stared every so often at the letter, which sat innocuously in the spot usually occupied by the Doctor's place setting.

"Tomorrow, when your dad gets back, we're going exploring," Rose said between bites.

"Exploring where?"

"Torchwood has a lead we're going to investigate."

Harry sat straight. Jenny concentrated hard on winding her spaghetti into a perfect ball at the end of her fork.

"A lead for what?"

"Disappearing persons of unusual dress and behavior from before we found you," Rose elaborated. "There's a shop front south of Leicester Square. It's broken down, a complete dump, but it's been owned and operated legally by a Dodderidge family since 1500. Its age should make it fall under the historic preservation laws, but it was never entered into the database, and every time they tried to do it, it sort of got lost in the system and never registered."

Rose took a sip of wine and gestured for Harry to keep eating. His fork had paused between his plate and his mouth half a minute ago as his mother dropped into her story-telling voice.

"In the twenties and thirties, Torchwood had operatives watch it because they picked up on a perception filter over the area.

"The thing is, they couldn't look for very long. Their eyes would sort of slide off it, like they didn't _want_ to look. And they noticed people approaching the area empty-handed and coming away with parcels and bags. Occasionally, someone would appear from that spot."

Harry swallowed slowly. Rose took another bite of her supper.

"Eventually, Torchwood decided it wasn't hurting anything and left it be, but they never figured out what the perception filter hid. And then the invisible war happened. A good portion of the massive terrorist attacks seemed to radiate around that point, and people would disappear near there, but with everything else going on, we didn't have enough people power to investigate it fully by the time we figured out its significance. And, once things started letting up, we were to busy with clean-up to bother."

She raised an eyebrow and Harry frowned at his plate as he contemplated the mystery.

"People disappear and appear or reappear with parcels. Can't look straight at it. You already said perception filter," he reasoned. "It's probably set up just like the one here. From the comings and goings, it sounds like the entrance to a hidden… What? A shopping mall? An invisible city? Is that what you and Dad talked about?"

"That's right. We commiserated a little, and he suggested, since the Torchwood blokes didn't pick up on any known tech, that it must be something else."

"Oh," Harry sat back a little. "So we're going to solve it, then? We're going to see if it's a wizard thing?"

"Yes. And then your dad and I will try to find other witches and wizards, if there are any, who don't live under the filters. Like any tech, it's got to be expensive to maintain."

Jenny sat up taller in her chair and speared a meatball.

"I'll bet Grandpa would like to know, too," she suggested. "I remember he said he got tons of odd reports when he got into office."

"Probably," Rose agreed. "Knowing him, MI6's Unit overlap people are just keeping mum to see if your daddy finds anything new."

She grinned at her kids and rolled her eyes.

Harry laughed.

"Why do they always make it a contest?"

"Contests are fun," Jenny Renette said as if it were obvious.

Rose shook her head.

"Because they thought he'd be less brilliant without the whole immortal thing," she clarified. "And they hate admitting he isn't."

The corners of her mouth twitched as Harry struggled to absorb that information.

"He's probably more clever than ever," he finally said. "You know, because he hasn't the time to not be."

"And don't forget it. I did a few times, and I still haven't heard the end of it."

Harry grinned and tucked into the rest of his food with renewed vigor. Tomorrow would be the start of his adventure.


	3. The Smiths

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

January 16, 2016 A/N: I just realized how much of a discrepancy there is between last chapter's word count and this one's. That's how it goes sometimes, I suppose. Also, I did add quite a bit of flesh to these bones, so to speak. I hope you enjoy the edits.

* * *

Chapter Three: The Smiths

* * *

**Morning 21 July 2012  
**

Harry groaned and rolled over on his bed to squint again at the blurry digits shining defiantly back at him from the screen of his alarm clock. It stubbornly read 5:45 a.m.

Its unchanging red numbers frustrated Harry to no end. His greatest adventure could not start until his mum and dad woke up, which, according to their normal schedule, would not be for another two and a half hours. That estimation did not include consideration of the Doctor's absence over the last few days as well as his very late return.

In all, the situation made for a very impatient, very awake almost eleven-year-old boy.

He gave a long-suffering sigh and sat up to switch on his lamp and put on his glasses. The mysterious owl-posted letter sat upon the bedside table as a constant reminder of what was to come. He picked it up and read through both the acceptance and supply list again.

"Hope Dad's right," he muttered.

…

"Wakeup Harry it's time to go!"

Harry yawned and sat up from his decidedly uncomfortable position scrunched against his headboard. He straightened his glasses, and when his vision came into focus, the Doctor stood above him with an almost maniacal grin on his face. His usually windswept hair had been styled into controlled waves and his suit looked off. It took a moment of concentration and another moment to clean the smudges from his lenses before Harry quite comprehended what he was seeing.

"What are you wearing?" he frowned.

The Doctor had foregone is usual blue suit for light khaki trousers, cream coloured waistcoat, pristinely white shirt, and a deep blue cravat beneath a much more tailored brown overcoat. A highly polished gold chain hung from a buttonhole in his waistcoat and disappeared beneath the lapel of his jacket.

"I've been up researching all morning, looking at photos of the mysterious unwatchable spot off Leicester square. All the out-of-place people look like they're from the earlier part of the twentieth century, plus long overcoats, capes, cloaks or robes," he rattled off as he gambolled about the room.

The Doctor tore through the wardrobe and the chest of drawers, flipping through Harry's clothes in a rush. Once in a while he threw an article at the bed to narrowly miss the groggy ten-year-old's head.

"So we're going to dress like the mystery people?"

"Mystery wizards, if my hunch is right," the Doctor specified.

"Do I even own anything like that?" Harry complained as he held up a pair of light brown pinstripe trousers.

The Doctor turned around, two capes in hand, one dark brown, the other pale blue.

"Shirt first, then trousers, then waistcoat."

"Why can't we just wear normal clothes?" Harry asked while he pulled on the white collared shirt and did up the buttons.

"We've got to be incognito," the Doctor insisted. "We'll have a little chat about that on the way. Go on. Do you remember how to do the cravat?"

Harry gave his dad a look as he tied the dark green fabric and tucked it into his waistcoat. The doctor waggled his eyebrows and held up the two voluminous capes. His son grimaced.

"It's not all that bad," the Doctor shrugged, "Consider it the price for exploring wizard-space."

"Fine. The brown one."

A look of supreme disappointment crossed the Doctor's face as he discarded the pale blue monstrosity Harry could not remember acquiring.

"If you must. Allons-y Master Tyler!"

With that, the Doctor loped across the room and disappeared down the hall. Somewhere in the house, Jenny squealed in that shrill way only small children can, and Rose erupted in mad cackles. Harry shook his head, finished dressing, and went downstairs to find his oddball family gathered in the foyer.

His mother wore a pale ivory walking suit straight out of the 1900s, complete with cropped sleeves, slim, ankle-length skirt, and white leather gloves. She even had her hair twisted into a low chignon. His little sister glared at the floor, apparently furious at her clothing. Either the Doctor or Rose had forced her into a white cotton and lace dress with a dropped waist, white stockings, and shiny black shoes. An oversized blue bow held back half her wavy red hair. From his position on the second to last stair, the tips of the accessory looked a little like odd-coloured kitten ears peeking over her crown.

"Well, at least I don't have to wear any lace," he finally laughed.

"I rather like it on me, at least," Rose said with a smile. "I feel classy, although the corset is a bit tight."

"_I_ hate it," Jenny grumbled. "Why do I have to wear this stupid bow and this stupid dress?"

The Doctor scooped up his daughter and kissed her forehead in one quick motion.

"I think you look very pretty. And I promise you can take it right off as soon as we've had our adventure. You're under cover for now."

"Like a spy?" she frowned.

The Doctor laughed and tickled her under the chin.

"Exactly like a spy. So, for today, we'll call you 'Renette,' and your brother 'Jamie,'" he said. "And of course, your mum and me are still your mum and myself, but we'll all be Smiths."

"And, Harry," Rose said in a quiet aside. "Go on into the loo and put in the contacts on the sink and dab a bit of concealer over your scar. And there's some pomade in the cupboard."

Harry nodded and ducked into the downstairs powder room to shed the last of his recognisable features. He even smoothed product into his hair until it lay neatly except for the one cowlick in the back.

"Very dashing," Rose approved when Harry re-emerged.

"_Very dashing,"_ Jenny mocked, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Now is everyone ready?" the Doctor asked.

When no one protested, he led the way through the kitchen and to the small garage. Everyone loaded into the black luxury car they hardly ever drove in favour of the smaller, bluer, less ostentatious model, and Rose backed out of the garage onto London Road.

"So why are we going incognito?" he asked after the last bit of sleep fell away from his clouded brain. "Without breakfast, might I add?"

"You and your stomach," Rose laughed. "We're getting breakfast wherever we're going, so long as they've got food."

"What if it's not good for humans and it liquefies our guts?" Jenny asked cheerily. "Can we get MacDonald's or something, then?"

"No."

The Doctor and Rose grinned at one another over their simultaneous answer.

"As to the fancy dress," the Doctor acknowledged, "I'm making a hunch based on the letter we found with you when you were a baby."

Harry frowned and shifted in his seat.

"You never have told me exactly what it said," he hedged.

Rose's gentle gaze found him in the rear view mirror.

"No, we haven't," she softly agreed. "Though we would have had you asked."

The Doctor rummaged in he breast pocket of his waistcoat and twisted around the edge of his seat to hand Harry a yellowed parchment envelope much like his acceptance to Hogwarts. He reached out to take it, but his father's grip did not slacken.

"Remember, Jemmy," he said solemnly, his dark eyes piercing as he observed his son's face. "We have and always will want you. It doesn't matter if you're a witch or a wizard, a troll, a Time Lord, a Slitheen, or just Harry."

Harry blinked rapidly to waylay the sudden burning in his eyes.

"You're _our_ son, and what this letter says and whatever we learn in the months to come won't ever change that. We love you."

His hold released, and Harry sat back in his seat with the faded message in his hands.

"I love you too, Dad," he answered softly under the Doctor's continued stare. "And Mum."

Rose, to her credit, merely smiled widely at him.

Harry unfolded the letter. The seal had long since disintegrated, leaving behind an oily stain on the thick parchment . He squinted at the looping, narrow script. It was addressed:

_Mrs Petunia Dursley_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging,_

_Surrey_

Time had not degraded the shimmering green script inside, either.

_Dear Mrs Dursley,_

_It is with my deepest regrets that I must inform you of the death of your sister, Lily, and her husband, James Potter. The world has lost two of its brightest lights and shall be much saddened by their loss. _

_After our last correspondence, I imagine you wonder why I ask that which you must now expect, considering where you have discovered this missive._

Harry snorted in disbelief. He remembered his parents telling him the Doctor had found the envelope clutched in his baby self's hand.

_I am sure you are asking how you, a woman with no magical ability and no love for our world at all, should bear the burden suddenly laid quite literally on your doorstep. In all truth, I would not have preferred to place Harry with you. He is a magical child, as you may suspect, who has already displayed a proclivity toward his mother's many gifts. However, as Lily may have warned you, and as you must have seen from your news, we are at bitter war with one another. _

_We cannot be sure who can be trusted and who cannot. You, as an un-magical person, can hold no blame whatsoever for any involvement in the murder of your sister and brother-in-law. While I may have eventually found a safe place for young Harry within our own community, I fear it would not be in time to provide him with the nurturing, healthy environment already present within your own home. I cannot be sure, of those who would take them, if they would do so to advance their own purposes or to provide for Harry's best interests. Even the most well-intentioned would be hard pressed not to mishandle him with too little discipline considering their intimate admiration of his parents' great sacrifice or the result of his unprecedented survival. _

_You must not be afraid of his powers. Rest assured, any discomfort you may experience in his presence is worth the danger he shall spare you and your family from. The criminals who attacked his parents will seek all those connected to them, and while you may have cut off communication with Lily, she never sought to forget you. _

_No doubt the followers of her killer saw photographs of you, your son, and your parents proudly displayed on her mantle during their search for her child and their master. To find Harry and their leader, they will inevitably exhaust any and all connection to Lily, which would leave you and your family in mortal peril._

_To avert this outcome, I have placed a strong enchantment upon Harry that, so long as you shelter him within your home and provide him with the usual necessities, shall protect you and your family until his majority at seventeen years of age. _

_Without the militants' leader, there are none powerful enough to breach them. Even creatures will be unable to find you, your son, or your husband so long as Harry remains beneath your roof. _

_It is my sincere hope, of course, that you will grow to love the child as your own. He is sweet, intelligent, and possessing of all the qualities that made Lily a good witch and a most excellent human being. _

_In exchange, you have my promise to honour your request to isolate you and Harry from the influences of our world. You'll neither see nor hear of us until Harry inevitably receives his acknowledgement of a place in my school before his eleventh birthday. From thence, on, we shall provide for him throughout the school year and he will only return during the summer holidays, or the Easter and Winter holidays if you wish for his presence._

_If you ever decide against your current position toward our folk, it would be my pleasure to correspond with you further, but as ever, I am at your service and will respect your wishes. _

_Your humble servant,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

_Headmaster_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

"I don't understand," Harry muttered after reading the letter through twice.

A flittering sense of anxiety squirmed in his belly.

"The person you found me with," he clarified, "Petunia Dursley- She was my aunt?"

He forced his fingers to unclench from the edges of the aged parchment and tried hard to force the anxiety from his voice. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled coolly, and Jenny watched him from her booster seat with concern on her freckled, wide-eyed, pink face.

"What's the matter?" she asked sweetly.

Her brother didn't answer or look up from the pages in his lap, so she turned to the Doctor, who watched them both over his shoulder.

"Sometimes, grown-ups are more afraid than kids," he said lowly. "And sometimes it makes them do stupid and even cruel things."

"What don't you understand, love?" Rose gently urged. "You know we'll do our best to answer any question you ask us. We've never lied to you and we're not about to start."

Harry took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat. He focused on the tightening of the smooth, sturdy safety belt across his chest and shoulder, the smell of his mother's honey-and-oat shampoo in the enclosed space, and the bushy line of his father's eyebrows. Jenny's small hand reached out and wormed its way around his fingers.

"You took me even though someone was after me?"

"Absolutely," the Doctor grinned. "Also, I dismantled said protections by accident so I could get a better read on you."

Harry sighed a breathy laugh.

"Right. O.K. The headmaster of my new school is the same person who left me with someone he knew didn't want me or even like my birth mother?"

Rose's expressive eyes tightened, and her mouth pursed.

"Apparently," the Doctor answered, mild displeasure on his face. "We'll be speaking with him about that at some point. Best to take things slowly for now, though."

"But how does this relate to fancy dress?" Harry groaned.

He felt a horrible ache forming behind his eyes.

"'Unprecedented survival'," the Doctor prompted. "And that bit about the militants' leader disappearing after his attempt on you. I'm guessing he was worried the fame would get to your head and turn you into an entitled snob."

"Right," Harry huffed, running a hand over his tidier-than-usual hair. "I may be famous, enough so that people would know if I lived with one of their own and would have been noticed in their shops and…"

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"They're expecting me to look different than they do. And I guess if my birth mum is famous, they'd know she came from a non-magical family like the rest of her sister's, so I'd dress like normal people."

"'Normal' might seem offensive to some," Rose reminded gently. "But, essentially, you've got the logic down behind our decision."

"I'm not nearly as excited about all this as I was this morning," Harry muttered as he reached to straighten his glasses out of habit, only to find empty air.

"Don't let it spoil things for you, though," the Doctor grinned. "You've got _magic_. You've always read more Time Lord than human, and you won't have to hide what you can do around everyone anymore. There are others like you: people you've never met that can relate to your experience of life. I've seen galaxies die and nebulas born. I've met species that are extinct and some that don't even exist yet.

"Every moment of every day I _feel_ time flowing around me in a way none save your mum can relate to. I _feel_ the force of innumerable atoms warring with one another, changing and shifting – these supposedly invisible forces – dancing across my skin and humming in my brain. I hear the stars sing. If it weren't for your mum, I'd go absolutely stark-raving mad."

"You understand what the fabric of reality tastes like," Harry whispered.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," the Doctor said wistfully. "But I can't experience it the same way you can. I needed tech to unlock what I was. You're infinitely more amazing than I ever could be, and we need to understand what's out there for you so that when you're ready, you can be whoever or whatever you want to be."

The car slowed to a crawl, and Harry passed the letter back. The headache threatening his skull abated, and a sense of peace permeated his mind as he looked from his mum to his dad and to Jenny, who squeezed his fingers reassuringly despite the burning curiosity on her face.

Although it was not quite the start to the adventure Harry previously imagined, he felt content to ride slowly through the thick traffic leading into London proper. While Jenny's head lolled against her seatbelt in half-sleep, he quietly contemplated his luck with renewed appreciation. The Doctor and Rose had never hidden his adoption from him, and had always made him feel loved and wanted, but it was one thing to know these facts and another to _know_ them in the face of real threats and frightening unknowns. When finally Rose pulled to a stop in a multilevel car park in Chinatown, he again felt excitement speeding his heart and urging him on. He practically threw himself out of the car and refastened his cape by the clasps hidden underneath his lapels.

Rose smoothed her gloves and took her handbag from the Doctor, who pulled a groggy Jenny from her car seat, balancing her against his side with one arm looped under her rear.

"Why doesn't anyone ever comment on our weirdness?" Harry wondered as they walked from the shadows of the car park onto the busy street.

He would have thought someone would remark on his rather impressive cape, at least, as they passed the many storefronts, restaurants and shoppers. Though many looked at them in amusement or confusion, they did not to care enough even to point. Then again, it _was_ London, and a few years back there had been a massive invasion of aliens who looked like upside down rubbish bins with toilet plungers for appendages.

Rose gave a delicate shrug.

"Just walk like you own the place, darling. Works for your dad and me."

"Which is sort of the truth, anyhow," the Doctor whispered, leaning over Harry's shoulder.

They shared a quiet laugh.

The Doctor carried Jenny as he led the way out of Chinatown and down Charing Cross Road. They walked (Rose with increasing complains about the heat of her many layered outfit) past bookshops, pizza parlours, curry stands, coffee bars and clothing stores, until they stood just across the street from a grubby pub situated between a big book shop on one side and a record shop on the other. Harry still hadn't spotted anything that looked like it might sell him a post owl or a potions kit.

"Is it close?" Jenny asked from her father's arms.

"This can't be right," the Doctor muttered. "I can't feel myself looking away from anything in particular."

He gently lowered his daughter, pulled out his mobile, and examined the GPS coordinates downloaded from Torchwood's database earlier that morning. Rose looked over his shoulder while shielding her eyes from the sun.

"No, that's right according to the files I was looking at last night," she confirmed, glancing again at the grungy pub.

Harry frowned and eyed the crowd milling around it. He watched carefully, particularly focused on the ones that looked like tourists or hobby-shoppers. These groups seemed most attentive to the different storefronts, yet their eyes seemed to slide without pausing from the record shop's neon signs and colourful posters to the tasteful displays in the bookshop window on the publican's other side.

"I think that's it," he said after observing over a dozen of those wandering individuals. "It must not have an effect on us."

"Interesting," the Doctor mused. "We had such trouble before."

Rose glanced at Harry and curled her arm around her husband's elbow.

"Well, we stopped looking after we brought Jemmy home. Maybe we've become familiar with his power and, by extension, their barriers."

"I can't make out the sign," Harry muttered, gesturing to the simple, wrought iron oval hanging over the shabby door.

"I'd rather not go in without making sure," Rose murmured, turning to her husband. "Doctor?"

"One perception field coming up," he agreed.

He led them to a bench just outside the pub, pushed a button on his phone, laid it on the metal seat between his and Rose's hips, and a moment later, the passerby seemed to have forgotten the bench (along with the very oddly dressed bunch sitting on it) was there at all. The family watched the pub and its oblivious passerby. Jenny sat again across the Doctor's knee and dozed again out of overheating and boredom. Sweat ran down the back of Harry's linen collar. Rose deployed the white lace parasol that she'd brought for show to shade herself and her quickly pinking daughter from the sun as it climbed in the sky and burnt off the remaining clouds. She started answering emails on her phone, while the Doctor, ever patient despite his fidgeting, stared unblinkingly at the peeling door.

Just as Harry had begun to loose hope in their venture, the door opened with a rattle of its dirty glass panes, and a middle-aged couple dressed in similarly old-fashioned clothing and laden with paper-wrapped parcels exited the pub. The Doctor turned off the filter and rushed forward with Harry on his heels.

"Excuse me, Sir, Madam!" he called, grinning charmingly at them.

The couple looked up and paused on the pavement. Rose and Jenny followed at a more sedate pace to stand with their boys.

"Can we help you?" the man asked with a politely bland expression.

"Yes, if you would," the Doctor went on. "You see, my family and I just moved back from the Colonies and I remember there being a lovely shopping district here."

The man's face relaxed into an easy smile.

"Oh, you're looking for Diagon Alley!" he turned to gesture at the pub. "I suppose your parents took you overseas during You-Know-Who's rebellion, eh? Mine would have, too, except we couldn't afford to have someone get us through the Muggle way. Ah, and I suppose the apparition wards have changed since then, too."

Fortunately, the wizard did not expect an answer to what he thought an obvious question and continued on without one.

"It's right through the Leaky Cauldron, there. You go through to the back and count the bricks over the rubbish bin. It's three up, two across from the centre. Just give it a tap with your wand, and in you'll go!"

The Doctor grinned and extended his gloved hand. The other man shook it genially, and his wife smiled at them kindly.

"Thank you so much."

"Anytime, Sir. And welcome back home."

Harry nearly bounced in excitement as the man and his wife strode away to disappear into the crowd. Rose gave him a light pat on the shoulder and took the Doctor's arm as he loped toward the entrance to the dingy little pub. Harry took his sister's hand as she stared ahead with wide eyes.

The hum of carefree chatter, swirls of multicoloured pipe smoke, and smells of hot meat pies and potatoes filled the air inside the dim little place. A very old man with no hair and almost as few teeth stood behind the bar cleaning glasses as he spoke to a miniscule man in a top hat. The other patrons sat in alcoves around the perimeter of the room and at the long scrubbed wooden tables occupying its centre. Old women in dark, lace veils drank little glasses of slightly steaming liquor. A very pale and thin man slowly nursed a glass of what looked quite a lot like blood.

"Is that a vampire?" Jenny asked in a loud whisper.

The man sent her a baleful glare.

"Don't be rude, Renette," Rose reprimanded.

"But _are_ you a vampire?" the Doctor asked as they passed the gentleman in question.

He glared again.

"Rude."

But Rose's comment fell on deaf ears as the Doctor made his way to the bar.

"Hello, there," the Doctor said, taking a seat on a swivelling, sparsely upholstered stool.

"Good morning," the bartender answered. "I don't think I've seen you in my humble establishment, before. Are you from Wales? Ireland or Scotland, perhaps?"

The old man looked the family over as they all took seats at his bar.

"Oh, no," the Doctor smiled. "We just moved back from the Colonies, actually. Our parents – that is, my wife's and mine – moved to Salem during the war, but my boy here just got his Hogwarts letter, so we thought it was high time to come back home."

"I see," the barman sighed with a wistful, gap-toothed smile for Harry, "A shame you had to leave at all. I never understood why the purists lauded He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named once things got going. Truly, we lost some of our best fighting him, and a good portion of the rest fled for fear of their loved ones. Never has one person caused such a decline of our population over so short a time."

Rose and the Doctor shared a surreptitious glance.

"Well, anyhow," he continued warmly. "Welcome back to Mother England and to the Leaky Cauldron. I must say I'm glad your young man and little lass, there, will reap the benefits of our fine school, at the very least."

Rose smiled sweetly as she helped Jenny climb onto a stool herself. She perched on it with her knees to see over the bar, and the old man chuckled at her enthusiasm.

"What can I do for you fine folk today aside from polite conversation?"

"I'm afraid we haven't breakfasted, yet. How about a little brunch, Mr…"

The bartender grinned and put away his rag. He drew a thin piece of slate from his apron, along with a slender stick of polished wood, which he held like a baton over the slate.

"Tom, Sir. Just Tom. What'll you have?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Tom," Rose asserted. "What's on?"

"Steak and ale pie, prawn sandwiches, pasties, pea soup, and roast hen for luncheon. We've always got your usual eggs and bangers and whatnot, too, if you're in more of a mood for breakfast."

"I'd like a prawn sandwich, please," Jenny told him.

Tom smiled indulgently and poked the slate with what Harry supposed must be his wand. White chalk shot across its surface with a quiet _poof_ and Jenny gave a small cry of delight.

"Would you like a butterbeer with that, dearie?"

"Butter beer?" Rose raised an eyebrow.

The bartender reached under the bar, set a frosted amber bottle on the counter, and tapped it with his wand. The cork shot off and raced to join several others in a glass jug behind the bar, and a straw floated from a canister nearby to slide gracefully into the bottle's mouth.

"Do try it," he urged. "It's fine for children. Not even enough alcohol in it for a mouse to feel."

Rose sipped it and hummed in delight.

"Oh, that's lovely! Go on, Renette," she said. "One for all of us, please. And I'll have your roast hen. Do you have chips?"

"Sorry, dear, I don't make those. But we've got mash if you like. Would you enjoy some roasted rosemary tomatoes, as well?"

"Yes, please."

The barman turned to Harry and his brows which, oddly enough, remained quite full and dark despite his baldness, rose comically.

"You look very familiar, young man," he said with a frown and a glance at Harry's clean forehead before turning to the Doctor. "What did you say your family name was, Mr…?"

The Doctor extended his gloved hand.

"Sorry, dear man. How rude of me. I'm John Smith, and this is my wife Roselyn, and our children: Jamie and Renette."

Tom gummed his lower lip and screwed up his face.

"Any relation to the Smiths of Exeter? Old Lady Hepzibah's kin?"

Rose and the Doctor exchanged a look and the latter schooled his face into a thoughtful frown.

"Maybe. We could very well be related. My parents always became quite sad when it came to asking after our relations, so I stopped a long time ago."

The old man gave them all another toothless, sympathetic smile.

"Well, we're certainly pleased you're back," he reiterated. "You've a very handsome family, Sir."

The Doctor and Rose nodded at the compliment and the bartender turned back to Harry.

"Now, young master, what would you like?"

Despite the shabby and grime-encrusted look of the place, Tom's cooking turned out to be quite good. Harry watched in wonder and delight as the old man directed levitating plates, laden with heaps of steaming food, to their places. The wonderful flavour almost managed to distract him from the other patrons, the dishrag wiping glasses of its own volition, and the soot-darkened paintings throughout the room that moved every so often. He hoped his awe wasn't as obvious as his sister's, which he assumed could be excused by her age.

When the butterbeer had been drunk and the plates had sailed away to plop quietly into a waiting basin bubbling with soapsuds, Tom slid them a bill printed on a slip of thin parchment.

"Ah," Rose said lightly. "Tom, do you accept the Queen's sterling? We haven't been to the bank yet to make our exchanges."

"Muggle money?" the man frowned. "Just this once. Usually, I'd need you to nip over to Gringotts to change it, but you seem like the right sort, Madam Smith, to not short-change me."

Rose grinned and blew Tom a kiss as she counted out more than enough notes to cover their food.

"Oh, thank you. There's a bit for you, too."

Tom bowed.

"You're too kind, Madam. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

The Doctor dabbed his mouth with his napkin and grinned.

"We were told we could get to the shoppe through here. Do you mind showing us? It's been a very long time for me."

"Of course, sir."

Tom shuffled out from behind the counter and led the way through the tangle of chairs and patrons out to a small courtyard. Sparse weeds sprouted here and there amongst the rubbish bins on either side of its east wall. The stooped old man drew his wand and tapped the brick just up and over from the biggest bin. The brick twitched, waggled and wriggled until it folded out of sight, leaving a square hole in its place. The other bricks spun away from the hole until, to Harry's amazement, an archway large enough to admit the whole family at once lay open before them.

The bartender bowed again, and a moment later they stepped through the archway onto the cobbled street that wound out of sight.

"Wonderful," the Doctor breathed, his mildly pleasant face giving way to exuberance.

He glanced around and pulled out his screwdriver to take a few readings.

"Brilliant!"

Harry gave a short, breathless laugh.

"Wizards are real," he said slowly. "Wizards are real and they have secret streets hiding behind secret pubs all over the world."

The Doctor hooted and ruffled Harry's hair.

"It appears so. Now, incognito - no more sonic for anyone, no mobiles if they even work through the fields over this place. Let's find Gringotts, first. It sounds like our bank."'

They set out down the street four-abreast as they greedily took in the sights. Harry wished he had at least four times as many eyes and six times the brainpower to better process everything he witnessed. They first passed a shop selling sparkling brass, silver, and copper cauldrons with a sign proclaiming their various properties and prices. Yet another advertised an apothecary resplendent in supplies of dragon's liver and ashwinder scales. One shop window, surrounded by older children and teens, displayed sleek, polished brooms and equipment for a sport called Quidditch. Nearby, a pet shop called Eyelops Owl Emporium stood with cages of exotic owls and other creatures stacked haphazardly around its open door. He could hear sibilant whispers, soft shrieks, squeaks, and meows coming from within.

There were book shops, quill and parchment shops, shops toting robes of unimaginable colours and textures and abilities (temperature adjusting, self-cleaning, water-resistant, colour-changing, self-sizing) – Shops selling everything anyone ever imagined in stories about witches and wizards, and even more that no one ever could.

"Amazing," Rose whispered.

"Brilliant," Harry agreed.

Jenny's red hair whipped to and fro as she tried to absorb her surroundings while she worked her short legs to keep up between her mum and dad.

"Can I have a wizard-y toy, Daddy?" she pleaded as they passed yet another irresistible display.

This one belonged to Doreen's Darling Dolls and Animated Figurines. Its window held a dollhouse whose tiny, delicately sewn occupants engaged in simple imitations of real-life pursuits.

"I think the word is _wizarding_, darling," the Doctor corrected. "Wizarding, wizardry, witchery, witching…"

Rose laughed at her daughter's indignant face.

"Wouldn't that be _be_witching?" she teased.

"You're bewitching."

"Charmer."

"Please!" Jenny begged. "I promise I won't ask for anything else until Christmastime. Or unless Gran and Grandpa ask, first."

Her parents smiled at her but neither committed to her request.

"Look there," Harry interjected by way of distraction, pointing to the end of the alley. "Bank's a bank in any culture."

Ahead, a towering white structure loomed grandly over the other smaller buildings to its left and right. Burnished bronze doors guarded its entrance atop a gradual flight of wide, polished marble steps, and on either side of the entry stood what appeared to be a little man with long pointed ears, very long feet and fingers, a keen, swarthy face and a pointed beard. They stood nearly a head shorter than Harry and only a few inches taller than Jenny, who looked on in open curiosity and a little trepidation. Each of them bore a long, wickedly sharp poleaxe, but these weapons did not deter the Doctor.

He raced up the steps, bowed to one of the little men, and immediately began speaking in a harsh, rasping language. The guard frowned and spoke back after a moment while Rose, Harry and Jenny looked on in bemusement. They went back and forth for several moments, until both erupted in laughter. The Doctor's sounded uproarious and joyful, but the little guard's grated like a saw against stone.

"Right," the Doctor said as he turned around. "Master Goblin Rax Needleblade here kindly offered to give us a hand in finding our way around Gringotts."

"Anything for a Lord of the Old Magic," Rax Needleblade said with an unnervingly sharp-toothed grin.

The Doctor smiled and offered Rose his arm again as the guard led them on through a second set of doors. Another guard, upon seeing him pass the threshold, rushed to take his place outside. The interior doors themselves gleamed solid silver in the glow of sunlight, and the words scrolling across its face glimmered enticingly:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Or think to scoff at blood-won law_

_With unsheathed wand or uncivil maw,_

_Thief, traitor, you've much at stake:_

_A price of flesh we shall take,_

_And none will fight or raise a hand,_

_For you stand on Goblin land._

_You have been warned and so beware,_

_Or blood will bathe Gringotts' smooth stair._

"What's that mean, mummy?" Jenny asked as the doors slid smoothly shut behind them.

Harry shuddered slightly as he finished reading it through, and their goblin guide chuckled.

"It is warning to thieves, child," he explained. "Once you cross the threshold into Gringotts Bank, you fall under Goblin sovereignty. Wizards and witches may not use their wands here to cast spells, and those who commit crime here are met with Goblin justice."

Jenny shuddered and stared around her with wide eyes.

"Fear not, child. Your parents have taught you well how to behave, and so you've naught to fear."

Rax stopped at the end of the shortest queue among a row of tellers and bowed.

"Teller Daggertooth will see to your needs, Doctor, and to your son. I thank you for your visit."

The Doctor grinned toothily, clasped his fists before him, and swept into a deep bow from the waist.

"I look forward to my next. May your enemies cower in your wake, and may the Mother sing songs forever of your valour."

"May yours fall swiftly beneath your feet and whisper ever more of your terrible might."

Harry, Jenny, and Rose followed the Doctor's lead and joined him in a similar bow. The goblin coughed another grating laugh and marched off to retake his post while the family turned round to face the same direction as the rest of the queue.

"Doctor," Rose whispered once the doors closed again behind Rax. "Do you know their species?"

"Yes, of course. They came to earth when the moon fell into its orbit, just as the Silurians first went into hibernation. People think the moon formed from the debris off a collision early in the Earth's formation but really, it was a dwarf planet that formed just outside the earth's orbit and eventually fell into ours when we crossed it's gravitational path. The Goblins lived under the surface of the moon, but as they started orbiting our planet, they decided to jump ship to enjoy the sunlight and breathe open air."

"Wow," Harry said.

The story lent even more wonder and mystery to the cavernous structure, which seemed bigger on the inside now that they stood beneath the soaring ceiling of spun, glowing amber crystal.

"And then the humans evolved and expanded," he continued sadly. "And like all cultures across the universe do when they encounter one another, they were afraid to the point of engaging in extreme, mindless cruelty."

The couple standing ahead of them left the queue to follow another goblin, and the Doctor paused in his explanation to approach the teller's bench. As with Rax, he bowed sharply and greeted the goblin in his own grating, grumbling language, much to Daggertooth's surprise and appreciation.

"It is a pleasure, Doctor," he said in English after several moments of conversation unintelligible to the rest of the family. "Did I hear you speaking of our history to your young ones and their honourable mother?"

"Yes," Rose said eagerly. "He was. I'm fascinated by your culture, Sir. I've never been to Gringotts."

"She travelled with me before we settled down," the Doctor said by way of explanation at Daggertooth's intrigued glance. "Saved my sorry behind quite a few times, too."

"Ha!" the goblin boomed, flashing another terrifying smile. "Then it is my pleasure to tell them the histories. It isn't often we get anyone interested enough these days to show the murals. We were once quite proud to share them with any who asked, but witches and wizards these days seem to care not for history, nor think much, it seems, beyond their trinkets or parlour tricks."

The goblin rapped his boxy knuckles against his polished counter and the sign displaying his name rolled to show another message:

_See Another Queue or Go Away._

Harry snorted and Daggertooth eyed him slyly.

"I'm glad to see a young one appreciating the Goblin sense of humour," he grumbled approvingly as he hopped off his high stool and led them from the main hall.

Through a door of amber crystal much like the ceiling overhead lay a wide corridor unadorned save for elaborate torches set into its rough-hewn walls. Harry squinted in the dim light until a click of their guide's fingers snuffed out the flames. He stood stock-still as Jenny's grip tightened on his hand, and he felt Rose's touch on the back of his neck. But, once the specks of colour induced by the sudden shift disappeared from his view, pinpricks of gold and silver light began to cut through the still darkness.

He heard the Goblin continuing down the hall, and with the Doctor's gentle urging, he took a tentative step forward.

"The human horde was persistent," Daggertooth grumbled.

Harry idly thought the harsh voice suited the dark better than the bright, austere chamber outside.

"And though we were more advanced in technologies and skill, the humans were a vast horde and we were few after our flight from our Mother's womb."

"The moon," the Doctor clarified quietly.

With Daggertooth's words, the pinpricks of light to their left took on a greater luminescence and slowly took shape. Rose gasped softly as the shimmer coalesced like stars against the stone into a battle scene cast in strange, glowing relief. It was as if a pointillist had bottled starlight and painted the story across the raised, rough stone. Yet, as far as Harry could tell, the light emanated from the wall itself rather than any ink. He stepped forward with his hand raised and advanced until the glow reflected off his fingers, too. Up close, squinting at the surface from a distance of only a few inches, he could discern tiny, jagged lines and odd curves layered over one another on the wall.

"It's writing," he whispered in awe. "Writing carved over the stone."

"Speaking the words bring the memories to light," Daggertooth explained approvingly. "One of the many skills we brought with us and further developed when the humans drove us underground. Few of our mothers remained, so we had no choice but to retreat to cultivate our magicks and protect the remainder of our race.

"We thought there would never be an end to the darkness, that we could never again bathe in true moonlight or star-shine, for despite our efforts, our numbers never grew greater than a sixteenth of theirs," the teller continued sadly.

Harry and the others followed his barely discernable shadow further along the corridor as another image shimmered into existence.

"And then an impossible being wandered into our keep beneath the bedrock. She found her way beyond the traps we lay that should have washed her into the river, and even when we turned our weapons on her, she raised none to us. She looked human, but we heard two hearts."

The Doctor's hand squeezed Harry's shoulder beside his mother's as Daggertooth's words painted a placid face lit by stars. Her eyes shone brightly, and a vortex swirled around her figure while the image of several fierce, goblin guards swarmed around her.

"The Lady Aspasia carried a power we had only heard of in legends passed down from the time we lived upon the face of our Mother. She came to us in the spirit of peace and harmony, and she and her human lover, who she saved from his violent brethren, weaved new life and new ability onto the face of the earth. Their teachings spread among the humans and their children held some of their mother's awesome power. These were the original witches and wizards, and for a while, we lived in accord and learned from one another. Peace reigned over the earth."

The next panel showed an Eden rich with lush farmland, beautiful structures overlooking it all, and goblins and humans working together in the fields and in the city.

"We developed warding schemes, many of which shield us from hostile view, and tamed the great beasts that ravaged the world. We hid the great cities of wizard, dwarf, fae and Goblinkind. It is upon this foundation the modern world of magic stands."

The Doctor's smile nearly split his face in its intensity, even through the darkness. He bent to grasp both Harry's shoulders, and he felt his mother's touch fall away as the Doctor's arms wrapped around him. Awkwardly, he started patting his dad's back in bewilderment as the Doctor reached around him to clasp the Goblin's arm.

"You don't know what this means to me," he gushed, squeezing Harry tighter with his other arm. "Please, please continue. Don't mind me."

"No," Daggertooth said after a moment.

A click of his long, clever fingers brought the torches back to life.

"You will witness the remainder of the story for yourselves, I'm sure," he said shrewdly. "And it seems you have words of great import to share with your child. I thank you for your interest. I will have a vault-keeper meet you without."

"Again, thank you."

Harry frowned up at his dad's face, which seemed caught somewhere between sombre gratitude and elation. Daggertoooth walked from the corridor after a short bow, which they returned, and quietly shut the door behind him.

"I didn't know this story before we came here today – wonderful bit of history, that," the Doctor explained as soon as the massive door closed. "But I recognized the species. It's no wonder-"

"Doctor, you're all over the place," Rose said gently, running a hand through her husband's usually mussed hair. "Start at the beginning."

"One upon a time," he obliged, happiness still dancing in his dark eyes, "Gallifrey was ruled by a woman named Pythia. At that time, our abilities, our manipulation of the time vortex, of the world around us, was a little more mystical. She held the belief that we should be spirituals first before scientists or students. Her sister disagreed. Aspasia-"

The Doctor's voice choked a little on the name, and he cleared his throat before continuing with a soft, sad smile.

"She thought it shouldn't matter what approach we take, so long as we have the freedom to explore on our own. Her sister exiled her, but she was a true wanderer through time and space, and she used her exile to go beyond the borders of the known universe. Every so often, she would send back data transmissions chronicling her discoveries and adventures. Eventually, when she stopped receiving replying transmissions, and after her human lover passed away, I assume, Aspasia returned to Gallifrey, just as the last great Time War began."

"The mother of all witches and wizards, according to the Goblin histories, was a Time…Lady?" Rose mused. "So that means-"

"Yes, the correct terminology is 'Time Lady,' and I was right," he affirmed, grinning widely at Harry. "You _are_ Time Lord-y. Part Time Lord, part human. Science and mystery woven into a wonderful boy."

"Oh," Harry breathed in amazed disbelief. "Small universe."

"But it's even better than that, Jemmy," the Doctor crowed. "Aspasia wasn't just any Time Lady. She was my mother. And when Daggertooth said she 'wove' life, he was being literal. Shortly after Pythia took over, Gallifreyans lost the ability to reproduce in the usual way, so they invented the Loom. It would take parent DNA and weave it together to create new Time Lords and Ladies, and regular Gallifreyans, too, who were quite a lot like Time Lords save the ability to regenerate."

"So… I'm related to you by DNA, beyond just usual species and whatnot?" he reasoned. "We actually share an ancestor?"

The Doctor smoothed his hand over Harry's cowlick lovingly.

"Yes."

Harry's eyes widened and the Doctor practically hummed with merriment. Rose and Jenny shared a sympathetic smile. It took a long moment before the almost eleven-year-old could manage working his mouth again. His father seemed to understand, and pulled him into a hug to stamp a kiss on the top of his head.

Rose cleared her throat.

"We should get to it," she said quietly. "We don't want to leave the vault keeper waiting. Speaking of which, didn't we need Daggerooth to change some sterling for Wizarding currency?"

"No," the Doctor said as he led Harry back to the door by the shoulder. "That was one of the things we discussed in Goblintongue. Harry's birth parents left him quite the inheritance."

"Really?" Harry asked dazedly. "How much? Is it enough to help Jenny go to school, too?"

Rose and the Doctor rushed to dissuade him of that notion.

"Oh, Jemmy, that's not why-"

"Just because you've got an inheritance doesn't mean we don't want to provide for you anymore or that you need to feel like you need to repay it."

"No," Harry laughed. "That's not it. And I know we aren't hurting for money. I just didn't think it's fair, and I'm sure James and Lily would have wanted my siblings, if I had any, to benefit, too."

Rose beamed at and pulled him to her breast in a tight hug. Harry felt his ears go scarlet, and Jenny giggled.

"You are _such_ a good kid!" she gushed. "Let's wait and see how much you've got before you try to give it away. We're still not sure of the exchange rate."

Several minutes had passed by the time they exited the hall of histories, and the vault keeper carried an air of annoyance when the Doctor opened the doors. Like Daggertooth, the being held himself straight in his three-piece suit, but his mouth wore a scowl rather than a toothy smile. Harry personally felt it was a more natural expression for the goblin in comparison.

"Teller Daggertooth informs me you need access to your vault, but have no key," he said without preamble.

His black, clever eyes searched Harry's face before alighting on his parents.

"For security purposes, we must verify your identity prior to granting you access and disabling other keys," he explained, turning sharply on his heel. "We consider this a complimentary service for those who do not claim ownership of an active vault. If you do, however, there will be a charge of five galleons."

Harry followed quickly behind him, and his family kept pace while the vault keeper wove through the growing crowd of patrons and goblin workers milling throughout the main hall. Again, they passed by way of a side door into yet another corridor, though with its dark, handsome wallpaper and marble floor, it seemed more in keeping with a non-magical bank. Gas lamps set into the wall lit the way to a door of darkly varnished wood, which held a knob set low enough to accommodate for the Goblin's height.

"Please be seated," he said after he opened the room for them.

The Doctor ushered his children and wife into three of the chairs clustered around the desk inside, and while the vault keeper took his place behind it, began examining the portraits mounted on the walls.

Harry followed him with his eyes and blinked.

The portraits blinked back.

"They move," Jenny said a little fearfully.

"And we can hear you too," one of the fiercely depicted goblin warriors grumbled back at her.

"But worry not, child," said another.

Harry turned toward the voice, which came from behind the desk and behind the vault keeper. At closer inspection, he realized the softer features and dress denoted a fairer gender than her canvas-bound fellows, though she looked no less fierce.

"We're oils, pigment and magic splashed across fabric, no more, and would not hurt a young one, besides," she continued.

The Doctor nearly vibrated with excitement as he flitted from one frame to another.

"Marvellous!" he crowed, swiping a fingertip across one frame.

Its occupant snarled at him.

"If you please, Doctor," the vault keeper grumbled. "I am a busy goblin, and you are trying my patience."

"Oh, don't mind me," the Doctor dismissed with a grin and a bow. "My son's the one who needs your assistance."

"Very well," the goblin grunted, turning his full attention to Harry. "I am Griphook, Senior Vault Keeper, and you, child, have the smell of a Potter and an Evans about you, despite neither your mother nor father having either. So who are you, exactly?"

Harry looked to Rose for guidance, since the Doctor was so distracted, and she smiled at him encouragingly.

"I'm Harry James Potter Tyler," he said cautiously. "I was adopted after my birth mum and dad died. We were given information that made us think it was prudent not to throw my name around, though, so would you mind calling me Jamie Smith around others?"

"Smith?" Griphook snorted with a glance at the Doctor, who grinned unrepentantly back. "Indeed, that may be wise. May I have your hand, child?"

Harry obligingly offered it, and the goblin guided it to a sharp, slender crystal spike with a weighted base sitting on top of a pile of parchment at the head of his desk. He eyed it warily. Harry had thought it an ornate paperweight or receipt spindle.

"I will prick your finger, child, and the blood and the magic within it will confirm who you are, whom you're descended from, and which vaults you hold rights to."

With the explanation, Harry allowed the vault keeper to press his ring finger down against the sharp point. He felt a stinging pinch, and a single drop of scarlet slid from the needle onto its concave base below. The crystal glowed, and while he put pressure on the minor injury, the first sheet of parchment below the devise filled with words written in rust-coloured ink. Once the glow faded, Griphook bent a gnarled finger and the parchment slid out to rest between them.

"Do… Do I have any other family?" Harry asked in a hush, glancing at his mum and dad out of the corner of his eye. "I don't want to live with anyone else, but I'd like to know."

Griphook swept the parchment with his sharp eyes and shook his head. The wisps of silver growing about his ears swayed with the motion.

"As I believe you already suspect, I must regretfully confirm you are the last of the Potter line, child." The goblin leaned away and sighed, "However, your mother and father left behind more than a genetic legacy in you. There is an expansive vault, a trust fund, and several family heirlooms awaiting you."

"I sense a but. Never met one of those I liked," the Doctor quipped as he strolled to stand behind Harry's chair.

The goblin's face twitched as if fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Indeed. But," he continued. "The Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot sealed the final wills and testaments of your honourable mother and father before a financial custodian could be assigned. Wizengamot was also declared you a ward of Hogwarts as of the first of November, the two thousand and second year, as is routine with orphaned witches and wizards with no other family or guardians. As such, your headmaster holds the responsibility of material stewardship."

Harry blinked, the Doctor's eyes narrowed, and Rose crossed her arms under her bust.

"So you're saying statements concerning _my_ son's withdrawals are sent to some daft old man?"

"You're acquainted with him, then?"

The Doctor snorted, and Griphook smirked.

"In any case, we are required to inform you. You can, of course, receive statements of your own in addition to the ones we are required to send your steward."

"Thanks for letting us know," the Doctor said genially. "We'd like go ahead and visit this trust vault, if that's alright."

The goblin nodded and rifled through his desk to withdraw a thick stack of parchment.

"Please sign and initial each form, child. You, too, Doctor, must sign as his lawful guardian, and we shall issue a new key."

Rose frowned a little and rubbed her hand in a soothing circle over Harry's back. Whether it was for his comfort or hers, he wasn't sure.

"Why not my signature, too?" she asked as her boys took up the quills offered them.

Griphook shrugged and made a sour face.

"Wizards are stupid. They do not recognize non-magical humans as having any sort of claim on children of magic."

While her brother and daddy began working through the paperwork - Would wizards call it parchmentwork? – and her mum started peppering the Goblin with more questions about Wizardry, Jenny commenced her own exploration of the vault keeper's office.

The place as a whole felt larger than any bank she had ever been in, and her mother had shown her the skyscraper banks in London.

'Someday you'll have enough money to invest it with them, and you'll never have to worry about funds, ever,' she had said.

Jenny had an excellent memory.

She slid out of her velvet-upholstered chair and amused herself by pacing off the square marble slab beneath her feet. Then she counted how many slabs tiled the office floor. After that, she counted all the lamps, but she had to stop because she quickly realized some of the glowing things in the ceilings and walls, and floating over her head, may not necessarily be used just for lighting purposes, at which point she began counting the different types of _potential_ light sources. She was almost at the point of getting bored (a feat, considering the sheer diversity and number of glowy things) when the goblin finally took the forms back, wrapped them with twine, and stamped them with a wax seal. A gold key and a small purple sack appeared on the desk with a small _pop! _which Harry readily accepted with the Goblin's approval.

"Very good. Doctor, madam, young master and miss, please follow me to the vaults."

Griphook led them through a soaring marble archway that melted into the office's far wall, down a velvet-carpeted corridor, and around a corner. Griphook held open a nondescript wooden door and Jenny looked around in surprise as they left the rich scarlet carpet behind them.

"Stalactites!" she chirped, pointing to the ceiling above them.

Millions of pointed, softly glistening spikes hung from the high ceiling overhead. Rough stone made up the walls and floor of the narrow passageway, which spread broad enough for no more than two people to comfortably walk side-by-side. Slender metal rails trisected the floor.

"Don't worry. It's been quite some time since our guests last guest was impaled my falling rock," Griphook suggested too casually before loosing a shrill whistle.

Jenny shrank against her mother's side and Rose glared at the banker as if he should expect one of the stones to pin him. Harry tucked his chin and played with the cuff of his jacket to hide his smirk. Metallic rattling announced the approach of a cart, into which the Goblin ushered them as soon as it screeched to a stop.

"Are there safety belts?" Rose asked as Harry and Jenny slid into the front seat.

The Doctor rubbed his seat with the pad of his thumb and licked it.

Griphook's nose wrinkled in amusement or disgust – Neither Jenny nor Harry could tell which.

"Restraining field and psychic filter," the Doctor reassured them. "No one here on legitimate business can leave their seat without meaning to."

"Handy, that."

Griphook climbed in last to stand at the head of the cart, and it lurched into motion.

Harry and Jenny let out twin whoops of excitement, and soon both the Doctor and Rose lost all sense of restraint, too.

It was faster than any amusement ride they had ever enjoyed. The cart shot up, over, down, around, and sideways. It skid, screeching, about corners, rode impossibly steep slopes, and executed loops all while it wound its way deeper and deeper under London. The ride ended sooner than the children wanted it to, and too slowly for the Goblin, who had clapped his hands over his ears in response to their first cries.

He glared at them all as they left the cart with wobbly legs and windswept hair.

"Vault six hundred and eighty-seven," Griphook grunted. "Your key, please, young sir."

Harry handed over the little bronze key, and the vault keeper twisted it twice in the keyhole. A series of metallic clicks and the scrape of bolts against their shafts echoed in the quiet space for a moment before vault door finally opened with a groan. Green smoke billowed out of its mouth, and the Tylers coughed as they tried to wave off the fumes.

"Oh my God," Rose gasped once the noxious clouds cleared.

Piles, heaps, stacks of gold, silver and bronze coins filled the broad, deep vault from floor to ceiling.

"Your current balance is forty-one thousand galleons, sixteen sickles and twenty-eight knuts."

"And what's that in pounds sterling?" Rose asked while Harry scooped handfuls of the coins into his drawstring purse.

"There are nearly five muggle pounds to every Gringotts galleon, although the reverse exchange is counted by weight of gold rather than Wizard regulations. I believe the current muggle value is around seven hundred and sixty pounds per ounce."

"Holy cricket," Jenny exclaimed, having recently conquered most mental calculations with the Doctor's coaching. "That's over thirty-one _million_ pounds."

The goblin chuckled.

"Keep in mind that Gringotts takes a very steep cut for our services in selling the gold in the muggle the market, and we process large amounts over an extremely extended period of time so as not to destabilise Muggle economies," Griphook warned. "There may have been a bit of a crisis several generations back that made this practice necessary."

Harry gulped, eyeing the gold inside the vault with a new sense of awe.

"Also, do consider that in an economy based on the exchange of primarily hand-made goods and services provided by a very skilled few, your expenses in the magical world will most likely deter you from wanting to do such a conversion prior to adulthood."

The Doctor hummed as he examined one of the gold galleons. The goblin seemed bemused as he stuck the whole coin in his mouth.

"How much is Hogwarts tuition?" he asked around the metal.

Griphook shook his head.

"Master Potter paid for all seven years in full after young Master Jamie's birth. Each year costs eighty-six hundred galleons plus the cost of books and supplies. The total expense for all seven years is-"

"Sixty thousand, two hundred galleons," Jenny chirped.

"Well, Jemmy," Rose laughed. "Depending on how much your supplies cost, I think any help you'd like to put toward our next vacation would be appreciated, but Jenny's secondary school tuition is still up for debate."


	4. Diagon Alley

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

January 16, 2016 A/N: Mild edits to this one. A few small details and dialogue. The important bit that may excite some of you can be found in Harry's wand-matching experience.

Happy Reading!

* * *

Chapter Four: Diagon Alley

* * *

**Afternoon 21 July 2012**

Harry and Jenny enjoyed the trip back up through the tunnels beneath Gringotts even more than on the way down. It seemed to go faster and defy gravity the entire way. By the time they breeched the surface and rolled to a screeching stop in the corridor the Doctor proclaimed 'the launch pad,' Griphook, had thoroughly lost his patience with the family. He clutched his pointed ears as the humans filed back down the corridor and out of Gringotts, altogether incognizant of the greeting they gave or their polite bows prior to their departure.

The Tylers stood at the top of the grand bank's staircase for several moments, blinking into the afternoon sunlight as their eyes adjusted. While their clothes had escaped all except a few drops of moisture within the vaults, their hair, as a collective, had never looked more windswept. With the exception of Rose's spray-cemented coif, their heads looked unkempt to the extreme: all tangles and blown back disorder.

"That was fantastic," The Doctor crowed. "Brilliant! Molto Bene!"

Harry laughed as he attempted to smooth his hair back into some semblance of tidiness.

"So what now?" he asked. "I think we've proven beyond a doubt this is really happening. What's next?"

Rose smiled and straightened from helping Jenny with untangling the hated bow's trailing ribbon from the mass of braids below her crown.

"I think you need the tools of the trade, if you want to go to Hogwarts in September," Rose suggested. "Let's start with a wand, then we'll get everything else."

The Doctor took off down the street halfway through Rose's sentence.

"This way, Smiths! Alons-y!"

Back down the alley they went. They resisted the pull of the many fascinating storefronts purely by virtue of their need to keep up with the Doctor, who loped, barely visible over the other shoppers, far ahead of them.

He came to a stop outside a shop that, in comparison to its neighbours, did not seem as impressive as its merchandise might suggest. Its window hung with scummy dust and cobwebs, and its frame badly needed a new coat of varnish. The display itself contained only a small, faded purple pillow supporting a dusty, plain black wand. The letters over its door were peeling in gold flakes of faded paint. Harry could hardly make out the name, _Olivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 383 BC._

The shop's interior seemed almost as shabby once the Doctor waved ushered them in.

A single spindly wooden chair sat by the door. The parquet flooring lay blackened underfoot, and shadows engulfed the space behind the desk where a small silver bell, suspended in midair, tinkled to announce their arrival. Jenny drifted closer to her mother's side as soon as the door closed behind them without even a click.

Harry felt as if they had intruded upon a mausoleum.

"Damned shoes," Rose muttered, claiming the solitary chair as her own.

Jenny laughed at her mother's sour tongue, and wrapped her arms around the woman's neck when she lifted her to sit in her lap.

"No cursing," the Doctor reprimanded absently while squinting into the darkness.

The Time Lord's hand crept into his pocket, where the sonic screwdriver weighed against his thigh.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end to send prickles up and down his spine. He stuck out his tongue as far as it would go and inhaled.

"The air here, it tastes…" he frowned as he sought the words, staring between his mother and father's cautious faces. "It's like, what I've been doing is just a measly sugar packet, and this place is a cake factory."

"I really wish you and your dad would quit that," Rose sighed.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice murmured.

Harry jumped and spun back around. The Doctor's arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he felt supremely grateful for its comforting warmth.

A very old man emerged from the shadows behind the counter and gave them a short bow. His moon-like eyes rest a moment on all of them before stopping on Harry.

"Mr Potter," he whispered with a deeper bow. "I thought I'd be seeing you soon."

He said the words like a fact of life: An inevitability. Harry stiffened and the Doctor's long fingers squeezed his left shoulder lightly.

"Thank you for your welcome," he answered with a nod of his head. "Are we acquainted, Mr..?"

"Ollivander."

The wizard smiled vaguely and looked again to the Doctor and Rose's faces.

"And these are?"

"My wife, Roselyn Smith, and my children Renette and Jamie. I am Doctor John Smith."

"Strange," Ollivander hummed, pacing forward to rest his spindly hands on his workbench. "But if you insist, Doctor, Smiths you shall be."

"Don't worry about it, Mr Ollivander," the Doctor dismissed with an easy smile. "Shall we get on with the wand choosing?"

The wandmaker's jowls quivered.

"Of course. Of course, it is the wand that chooses the wizard, however, so it may take some time for the right one to find young Master-" he smiled vaguely, "-'Smith.' Please, do, sit."

Ollivander drew his own wand, a slender construction of silvery wood very much like his eyes, and another spindly chair materialized out of thin air. The Doctor sat, leaving Harry to stand awkwardly in the middle of the shop. The wandmaker then retreated again behind the counter, where the shadows suddenly faded to reveal row upon row of narrow shelves crammed from floor to ceiling. They seemed to expand endlessly back, all stacked with thousands of narrow boxes.

"I think this shop's bigger on the inside," Jenny whispered.

Olivander coughed a low chuckle as he mounted a rickety ladder and began pulling boxes off the shelves.

"Indeed it is, little miss," he breathed before throwing a glance over his shoulder at Harry. "You know, it seems only yesterday that Lily Evans was here buying her first wand."

The wandmaker twitched his hand, and the ladder obligingly propelled itself beyond their view. His voice, however, remained as clear as if her were standing at the counter, still.

"You have her eyes, you know," he mused. "Her wand ended up being ten and a quarter inches long, fashioned from the branch of a three hundred-year-old willow, very swishy and excellent for charms work. I remember the very dust levitated and spun about the room like glitter the moment she took it in hand."

The old man rolled back into view, clutching a veritable stack of potential wands for Harry. Another pile floated in his wake and followed the wizard as he dismounted the ladder and came around the counter.

"Your father's however," he said as he opened the first five boxes, "was more suited for transfiguration. It was a pliable young mahogany of eleven inches, full of power and potential for change."

"Do you remember all of them, Sir?" Harry asked quietly. "Or just my birth-parents?"

"Oh," Olivander sighed a little wistfully. "I remember all of them. Every single one I've ever sold, including the one that gave you that scar, I'm sorry to say."

The room seemed to drop into a deeper quiet as Harry's family looked between him and the frankly creepy old man. He unconsciously took a step closer to the Doctor, who put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"A most regrettable affair," Ollivander murmured, his gaze far away. "But!"

He clapped his hands, and a faint flush overtook his pale, saggy face.

"Perhaps with the right match you can overcome even that. Please, give this one a try. Beech wood and dragon heartstring. "

He held out a wand. Harry took it, focused, and gave it a wave. The quills sitting on the counter burst into flame.

"Wow!" Jenny squealed.

"Oh dear, no," the wandmaker said, shaking his head at the smouldering remains of his pens.

"Er- Sorry," Harry apologized lamely.

"Never you mind. It's quite all right. Let's try…"

The wandmaker held his hand over several of the wands on the counter and stopped at a light honey-coloured one.

"This one. Maple and phoenix tail feather, seven inches."

But as soon as Harry's fingers touched the handle, the man whipped it out of his grip with a shake of his head.

And on it went.

Wand after wand after wand until a small heap of discarded sticks lay messily on the countertop. Harry grew increasingly frustrated, and Jenny complained more than once about boredom once Ollivander deemed it too dangerous for Harry to wave one if it didn't feel quite right on first touch.

It went on until all the boxes the wandmaker originally selected lay forgotten, and the old man wandered again amongst his shelves muttering excitedly to himself. Harry felt anxiety growing again in the pit of his stomach.

"Tricky, tricky," he called from somewhere in the depths of his shop.

It was _definitely_ bigger than it should be.

"But worry not…"

A soft shuffle and a clunk sounded, followed by a beat of silence and a resigned sigh.

"I wonder," Ollivander murmured as he slid from the shadows.

He hopped down from the ladder and stepped around the counter to offer his customer his latest find.

"This one's holly and phoenix feather: An unusual combination. Eleven inches and very supple."

Harry shifted from foot to foot. The prickly feeling intensified as Ollivander gingerly worked the lid from the slender, dust-covered box and held it for Harry's inspection. It was a lovely, warm colour whose burled shaft narrowed gracefully from its handle, which had been fashioned from the untreated wood and retained much of its bark. Harry could feel it humming with that previously unidentifiable feeling he now understood to be magic.

Harry held out his hand and the wand jumped to meet his fingers. Harry's hair stood on end, warmth filled his chest, and his cape billowed around his shoulders as a fountain of gold sparks spewed from the wand's end. The Doctor clapped and grinned from his seat and Jenny cheered.

Ollivander stared.

"Well, well," he said quietly. "Bravo. Bravo indeed, Mr Potter."

The man, who seemed to age decades before their faces, slumped as he shuffled back behind his counter to begin boxing up the rejects.

"How very curious," he mumbled, idly directing the wands back into their boxes with twitches of his left hand and the occasional flick of his wand.

Harry looked up as his mother sent the old man a glare.

"Sorry, but what's so curious?" she said a little peevishly. "All due respect, Mr Ollivander, but I'm a little put out at your manner toward my son during this experience."

The old man's pale, bushy eyebrows disappeared behind his fringe. He held up his hands in supplication.

"My apologies, Madam. I know I'm a little eccentric, according to my friends, but you see, everyone knows your son. And despite the minor notice-me-not he's cast around your family, anyone with real eyes to see would recognize him, even without the scar, spectacles, and green eyes."

"And why is that?"

Ollivander frowned as the last of the wand boxes began sorting themselves into their original places on the many shelves.

"Why, because he ended He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, of course."

Harry felt as if he had accidentally swallowed an ice cube whole. The Doctor's previously curious features melted into blank disbelief.

"Jemmy was a baby. Babies can't 'end' terrorists, no matter how wonderful," he said coolly. "And what do you mean, 'He-Who-_Must-Not_-Be-Named'?"

The wandmaker looked from the Doctor's face to Rose's, and back to Harry's, which had tightened with not a little fear.

"An ominous title for an ominous person," he finally admitted. "We dare not speak his name, even now. Once, at the height of his powers, he invoked the power of that time to summon his agents to whomsoever spoke it. Those who dared-"

Ollivander shuddered delicately.

"Well, they were lucky if we never heard from them again."

"And if you did?" the Doctor asked more quietly.

Ollivander searched their faces with wide, sorrowful eyes. He smiled gently down at Jenny's frightened face.

"It's better to not say before the children. It's why young Harry here is so well-known and loved," he continued. "One night, the Dark Lord failed in that which he had succeeded so many countless times before. He attempted to end a good and strong family who defied him more than once, but when the night was over, the Dark Lord's corpse smouldered in the ruins of Godric's Hollow, and Harry Potter lived, crying amidst the rubble."

Jenny twisted the hem of her dress.

"So he's really gone? This Dark Lord person?" she asked in her high little voice.

"Unequivocally," Ollivander assured her.

The wandmaker began bustling around his shop, setting it back to rights as Harry and his family exchanged worried looks and silent messages.

"Now," the old man said, turning back to them with a black velvet bag and the wand box. "In here, you'll find your standard wand maintenance kit and a dueller's standard wand holster. It isn't included in your supplies list; however, I highly recommend it as it will protect your wand from summoning and also prevent any physical damage it may otherwise suffer in your pockets."

Harry nodded as Mr Ollivander dropped both parcels into a black paper sack. He handed Harry the slim holster to strap to his forearm beneath his sleeve. It was shorter than the wand, and so thin Harry wondered whether it would fit, but the wand slid smoothly in until just an inch or so of the handle stuck out.

"Bigger on the inside!" Jenny laughed. "Daddy, we _have_ to figure out how to do that with Mummy's closet."

Ollivander chuckled at the child as he handed a small slip of paper to his customer.

"It'll be ten galleons and twelve knuts for the lot, Mr Potter."

Harry rummaged in the little Gringotts pouch to withdraw the correct amount. He grabbed his things and turned to leave, only to be stopped at the door as the Doctor grabbed his shoulder. Rose and Jenny looked at them curiously from the street.

"Mr Ollivander," the Doctor said, barely loud enough to be heard. "Why did you say the wand match was curious?"

The old man stared at him with his luminous eyes and gave them both a worried glance.

"Usually, the noble creatures who give me the materials for my wand cores only donate one feather, hair, or heartstring. And yet, over half a century after I made it, on the very night a yew-and-phoenix-feather wand gave you that scar, the same phoenix appeared to me and gave me another feather. A powerful core for a powerful wand, one which you now possess."

The old man shook his head.

"Strange, isn't it?" he murmured. "An odd coincidence, but I'm sure its nothing more than a joke of fate."

He turned as if to disappear again into the shop's depths, but the Doctor's hold remained on Harry and the door, preventing him from fleeing or the door from closing.

The little silver bell tinkled insistently on the counter.

"If the Dark Lord is gone, why do you still dare not to speak it?"

Harry felt cold as he looked up at his father's face. No trace of his usual mirth turned the corners of his mouth or twinkled in his eyes. His heavy brows had drawn together over a severe stare. Ollivander slumped forward, his face shadowed.

"You must know better than most, Doctor, that some names hold more power than others. Just as I think you know the lengths to which some evils will go to prevent utter banishment."

The Doctor nodded solemnly, thanked the old man, and shut the door to lead Harry back into the sunshine of Diagon Alley to stand beside his mother and sister. They quickly came to the consensus that some ice cream was in order, after which they resolved to go to the trunk shop so as to have transport for Harry's many future purchases.

Harry took a bite out of his overlarge chocolate and mint chunk ice cream cone and winced as the cold attacked his teeth. His sister, apparently, felt no such pain, and her sticky-covered face attested to that assumption. She looked more perriwinkle – Lavender Dream flavour, Mr Fortescue, the shop owner had said – than pink and ginger.

"It is just a coincidence, isn't it?" Harry asked with little hope as he watched his dad attempt to sonic loose the sticky mess.

He threw his son a sympathetic grimace, and Rose smoothed Harry's hair gently.

"You're too smart to believe in coincidences," she murmured.

After that, it seemed all three agreed _not_ to discuss the disturbing knowledge further.

With their steel resolve, even that forbidding shadow of knowledge could not detract from the wonder that was a magical shopping centre. No one forgot, but it was hard to stay wary when everywhere, something amazing vied for their attention. Even something as mundane as a trunk shop, _Peter Pepperidge's Portmanteaus, _held marvels beyond Harry's imaginings, despite his parents' stories of their journeys in the TARDIS.

He found an _Apprentice's Best _trunk that held four different compartments with four separate locks. Each lock, positioned on either side of the handle, corresponded with a section of the trunk, which, when opened, seemed to occupy the same space as the others when _they_ were opened. One compartment held a set of shelves that when tapped with a wand, shot up and expanded into a full ten-foot-high bookcase. Another tap of the wand and a verbal command would raise and lower the shelves back into the trunk, thereby granting access to whichever shelf its user most needed. The second compartment similarly expanded into a wardrobe complete with hanging space and drawers. The third contained a writing desk that folded out from a compact cube with many spinning, intricate gears and clockwork to reveal a handsome, upholstered stool at its centre that slid neatly out to accommodate a student once the desk fully built itself. The final compartment needed more explanation. Clouds of cold air seeped from the cupboard when it stood open.

"A cold cupboard for potions ingredients or foodstuffs," Mr Pepperidge explained jovially.

It seemed, as Harry previously thought, impossible, but then the Doctor explained.

"Bigger on the inside with a omni-spatial dimensional overlap. Really, it's four compartments occupying the same space at different times. Really, truly beautiful."

At which point, the Doctor shook the shopkeeper's hand rather vigorously and begged to be shown the rest of his amazing merchandise. This led to the purchase of the exorbitantly priced _Travel-Lite Everything Trunk_, which expanded on the attributes of the _Apprentice's Best_ with a full walk-in closet when propped open on one end, a walk-in study and lab (complete with its own interior cold-storage) when opened set on the other vertical short end, and also included an unending library, which seemed to operate by rotating infinite shelves in and out of view at voice and wand command.

Mr Pepperidge also convinced them of the utility of a feather-light, infinitely expanded Mokeskin-lined, leather school bag, which apparently created an alternate dimension purely for the use of infinite storage. The handsome bass buckles and embossed initials were simply a bonus to prevent it from becoming confused with other students, he explained.

The experience left Rose and the Doctor impossibly amused and they engaged in a lively conversation with Mr Pepperidge on the best studies to pursue in order to create such marvellous things as soon as they paid for it all. Meanwhile, Jenny tried to beg Harry to take her to Hogwarts in the study and lab. Fortunately, however, the trunk-maker overheard and quickly warned them that as a security feature, any living thing with a vascular and skeletal system could not be sustained inside the trunk space unless it was the primary owner, which would be Harry once the lock took a sample of his blood.

Jenny was supremely disappointed.

The Doctor got a shrewd look on his face as he contemplated the possibilities of such measures, and no doubt wished he could have applied a variation to his TARDIS, if Harry remembered the stories well enough.

Next, they visited _Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions_, where the proprietress kitted the entire family with the best of Wizarding wear on top of Harry's school clothes. Jenny, The Doctor, and Rose got several casual, business and formal outfits while Harry stood under the tender mercies of Madam Malkin's giggling assistants and her automatic measuring tape. He, to his unending frustration, had to choose an entire wardrobe for all seasons, right down to his pants and socks.

When he attempted to argue with his mum on her decision in the matter, she sternly reminded him that Hogwarts was a boarding school, and he would, therefore, inevitably have time outside of class in which he probably would _not_ want to wear a uniform and _should_ 'Do as the Romans while in Rome.'

Thankfully, Jenny's sweetness and irresistibly adorable rebellion against frills and pink distracted the female assistants from Harry's fitting enough that he did not feel the urge to blush as he was stripped and dressed and stripped again for his mother's obvious amusement.

They left the shop with Harry's purse considerably lighter than when they entered it, and proceeded to the rest of the shops relieved in the knowledge that Harry's trunk gained no weight with each addition to its mind-boggling inventory.

They purchased a cauldron, scales (which the Doctor promised to tinker until they matched the accuracy of his own expensive digital model), quills (which Rose resolved to match with a set of fountain pens), several feet of parchment (which Jenny said were fairy tale-y), a set of crystal phials (at the suggestion of Mr Mulpepper, the potions master and apothecary owner, for their durability and preservation qualities over glass), and a standard potions supply kit.

It went by in a whirlwind of activity until Harry felt sure he was experiencing a very elaborate dream he would promptly forget upon waking. Finally, only two stops remained before the list would be complete and the dream ended.

"Books and pet. It's nearly four so they're probably going to start closing up if they haven't already," the Doctor said. "Rose, Jenny, why don't you two go pick out an early birthday present for Harry. We'll tackle the books."

"Dad, we don't have to-"

"Hush," Rose grinned. "We love surprises and you deserve an early birthday present."

Harry rolled his eyes and waved his mum and sister off while he and his dad went into _Flourish and Blotts Booksellers._

As seemed to be the theme in Wizard Space, as Harry dubbed it, even the bookshop seemed to be maintained by a potent mixture of madness and magic. There were shelves, of course, but they seemed to hold no consistency whether the books they held went vertically or horizontally across their beams. What floor space remained between them (that wasn't needed for foot paths) crowded with teetering stacks of books. Harry made his way through it all, scanning the titles and their topics only to discover, to his absolute horror –

"It's not organised!" a voice complained almost shrilly.

Harry whipped his head about at the unconscious echo to his thoughts.

"Not by subject, not by colour or size, not by the dewy decimal system, not by call numbers or by subject. Not even alphabetically or by author!"

"Hermione-" a weary, throaty voice scolded.

"But how am I to find my books?"

Harry poked his head around a corner to find a very obviously distraught young girl with very bushy, dark brown curls that framed a small, freckle-dusted caramel face. Her mother sat nearby atop a school trunk with a frustrated curl to her own dusky mouth. Harry eyed them for a moment, deliberating, before he registered the clothes they wore and the rolling suitcase the mother leaned against her hip.

The girl called Hermione looked up when he cleared his throat.

"I can help you, if you like," he offered with a smile.

Hermione blinked and chewed her lower lip, revealing slightly overlarge front teeth.

"I'm sorry if I bothered you," she said at last, in a rush. "It's just-! Well, I'm new to all this, and it's been such a whirlwind of a day, and Professor McGonagall just left us after she showed us which shops to visit, and I was _so_ hoping wizards and witches were just the same as everyone else except for a few extra talents, but it seems…"

She trailed off and smiled. Usually people cut her off at that point, but the boy just smiled patiently and waited for her to finish.

"I'm beginning to understand how wrong I was to think so. Magical Britain may as well be a separate country."

Harry nodded.

"Yeah, my dad warned as much. He figures after wandering around all day that it's been separated since around the Magna Carta," he agreed. "But, you know, anything that doesn't make sense to those of us who grew up in the modern world is just adapted to their special way of thinking. It's not necessarily wrong. We're just not used to it."

Hermione blinked at him.

"You mean you're not a pureblood wizard?"

Harry blinked and frowned.

"Are you telling me there's race politics here?"

"Sort of," she admitted with a slight smile. "Someone I met earlier was a little rude about it. Not about me being mixed, though, funnily enough."

Hermione's mother's face took on a somewhat sad cast at that, and Harry shrugged.

"Well, I definitely don't care," he dismissed with an easy smile. "My parents just made me wear this to blend in. And I'm Jamie Smith, by the way."

Hermione extended her hand.

"Hermione Granger," she said with a bigger smile. "And this is my mum, Jean."

"Pleasure to meet you both." Harry rubbed his hands together and eyed the bookshelves. "So what do you say we find our books? First year, right?"

The boy screwed up his face and his hands, and Hermione watched in amazement as he somehow _summoned_ the books she needed. They flew, smoothly and without disturbing their neighbours, from the shelves and zoomed around them to form two neat stacks: hers at the foot of her suitcase and his on top of the handsome trunk he wheeled behind him.

Then came the special requests.

Hermione looked around in surprise as someone else in the shop shouted different titles at him, and they would join his pile, too. Hermione put in for copies of the ones that intrigued her, and even more of those he and his mysterious companion – his dad, she assumed – had not thought about. In the end, each claimed a small personal library to call his and her own, respectively.

"All done?" the Doctor asked as he wondered around the corner, carrying yet another boxed set of books under his arm.

"Yep," Harry said with a grin. "This is Hermione and her mum, Jean Granger. I was giving them a hand, too. This is my dad, Doctor Smith."

"Good job, and pleasure to meet you both," he grinned. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Harry grinned. "Let me just say goodbye."

The Doctor nodded and wheeled Harry's books and trunk away to pay for everything, leaving an astonished Mrs and Hermione Granger in his wake.

"That was incredible!" Hermione gushed. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

Harry cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure, but I guess I could try. I'll look for you on the train?"

Hermione smiled and engulfed Harry in a hug.

"Please, do. And thank you _ever_ so much!"

Jean Granger smiled gently.

"Yes, thanks for your help today, Jamie."

"It was my pleasure. See you on the Express, Hermione!"

Harry rushed to join his Dad outside the shop. The sun had sunken low enough in the sky that the tops of the tallest buildings surrounding the alley cast long shadows across the cobblestones. Rose and Jenny waited at one of the tables outside Fortescue's ice cream parlour with a large covered object between them on the table. The Doctor nearly buzzed with excitement as they skipped to join the girls.

"Did you find all your books?" Rose asked as soon as Harry came close enough.

"Yeah. Schoolbooks, history books, culture books, primers, etiquette books," he said in a rush. "If it looked useful, we bought it. Made a new friend, too."

"Oh?"

Harry nodded.

"Another non-wizard-raised kid like me."

The Doctor sighed and ruffled his hair. Harry immediately smoothed it.

"I doubt there's any non-wizard-raised kids alive quite like you."

Harry fought the burn in his ears and cheeks. Jenny smacked his arm.

"Ow!" he gasped, rubbing it with a glare for her. For a tiny little girl, she had a wicked arm on her. "What's that for?"

"You're taking too long to open your present," she said as if it were obvious.

Harry rolled his eyes, but pulled the fabric cover off their latest purchase, anyway. Beneath, a finely worked cage glinted in the late afternoon sun, and inside, a beautiful white owl with amber eyes and a finely curved beak blinked up at him. She chirruped and Harry grinned.

"Wow!" he laughed as the owl cocked its head at him. "What's its name?"

"It's a 'she' and we thought, since she's your owl, you should name her."

Harry poked a finger through the bars of the cage to stroke the bird's head with a fingertip. The owl hooted appreciatively and leaned into his touch.

"I'll have to think about it and find something good."


	5. Interesting Headwear

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

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Chapter Five: Interesting Headwear

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**1 September 2012**

Harry watched as Hedwig took off on yet another long flight. For a newly purchased post owl, he thought she must have had more exercise than all the other owls southwest of London put together. The Doctor had seen to that, not that Harry minded, really, since he had been curious, too. Eventually, however, Hedwig tired of the experimentation and let her master's father know. Rose and Jenny had laughed at that, and the Doctor still bore a few scratches as proof of the bird's displeasure.

Still, The Week of the Owl Tests (as Rose dubbed it) did shed light on some things they had wondered. They discovered quite a lot between Hedwig and rented Magical Postal Service owls:

1) Post owls are magically evolved forms not equal to the average owl

2) Post owls can fly anywhere faster than what should have been possible based on normal owl behaviours and physics

3) Post owls find post recipients with minor telepathic links with other birds and their humans

4) Post owls are extremely intelligent creatures with a wide emotional range

These conclusions led to more questions related to human, wizard and animal relations, which resulted in a spontaneous trip to the London Zoo, where _Harry_ became the Doctor's test subject. Of course, the Doctor controlled the experiment as he understood and communicated with animals quite well, but even he was shocked when they happened upon the reptile house.

It seemed snakes did not have to be magical to use verbal language, although the Doctor's readings of Harry during his conversation with a Brazilian python seemed to show a wizard _did_ exert magic to effectively speak with them. And although the Doctor's scans seemed conclusive, he still insisted on a research trip to Diagon Alley, where they cleared the shelves of all the books relating to snake language, or Parseltongue, as they found it to be called.

There had been experiments related to potioneering, to spell-casting (with and without Harry's new wand), to transfiguration (which was quite different than spell-casting, he learned), to etiquette (because as Rose pointed out, some things went out of fashion and the only way to know was through testing), and to Time.

One of the books they had bought in their original trip into Flourish and Blotts alerted them to the existence of time turners, which set the Doctor off on the longest rant Harry had ever witnessed.

Best, or worst, of all – Harry had not yet decided which – he finally learned the details of what happened to his birth parents. The knowledge came at the price of many hours searching through book upon books of misinformation and hearsay recorded as fact despite a complete lack of evidence or citation. Harry found the children's series written about his adventures especially entertaining and frustrating.

He very quickly realized the so-called fame his parents worried about had become a special type of fanatical sensationalised hero-worship over the last ten years of media free-for-all left in his wake. Harry shuddered to think about how the situation would skew his peers' view of him when he arrived at Hogwarts.

He even learned about wizard politics and researched the mysterious Albus Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock and Hogwarts Headmaster who seemed to have so heavily influenced his life. But if Harry felt anxious and frustrated at the topic, his mum and dad seemed to teeter from apoplectic to maniacal eagerness in respect to the much-venerated leader.

From the moment they arrived home from their jaunt into Wizard Space, they spent every free moment studying. Harry began with laws and customs and worked through every subject they purchased - sometimes reading three books a day – until he knew all the material backwards and forwards. The Doctor and Rose ensured as much with constant quizzing and higher-level discussion. It was so much, he almost regretted having a Time-Lord-turned-human for a dad, because all the speed-reading and mental cataloguing techniques used to make the frenzy possible in the first place came from _him_.

In short, it felt like a very _long_ month and change that even his eleventh birthday couldn't brighten.

So, when the morning of September first finally dawned beautiful and clear over his house on The Gallop, Harry felt as relieved as he was excited to learn in a school for magic.

He dressed quickly in the clothes he had laid out the night before: Khaki trousers, dark green waistcoat and burgundy bowtie with a darker burgundy, almost brown, long-hemmed coat and a khaki cape clipped under the collar of the jacket. Harry pomaded his hair into order, popped in clear contacts (of which Rose had thoughtfully purchased a year's worth), stored his glasses and pyjamas in his trunk, and slipped the heavy parchment ticket printed in gold foil and green ink into his breast coat pocket before going down to breakfast.

"Morning," he called as he walked through the kitchen to deposit his trunk in the garage.

Rose gave a vague sound of greeting and flipped the bacon. She was not a morning person, and so Harry accepted it as the kindly maternal greeting for which it was intended. Jenny sat at the table, her hair still in plaits from sleeping, and stirred her cereal in slow circles. She did not look at Harry when he sat down beside her and pulled a piece of toast toward him. He set to buttering it liberally and dipped a corner directly into the orange preserves.

"Where's dad?" he asked after taking a bite.

"Tree house," Rose yawned.

"Is he coming to breakfast?"

She shrugged and turned to bring a platter of bacon and eggs to the table.

"He'll probably forget. Why don't you take your breakfast and his out there and make sure he eats something."

She gave him one of her Mum Looks and Harry complied without comment. He heard her speak in low tones to a suddenly sobbing Jenny as soon as he slid open the door to the garden.

Climbing the ladder up to the tree house was a challenge with a plateful of eggs, bacon, and toast in hand. Still, he managed to make it without falling or dropping anything, so Harry considered it a success even if the eggs we cold by the time he reached the top. He remedied it by willing a warming charm at them, and the stoneware heated rapidly under his fingertips.

"Dad?"

Harry opened the door to find his father sitting in a beanbag chair against the wall and staring at a photograph.

"Hello," he said softly. "Up already?"

"It's past eight. Mum even had time to make us breakfast."

"Now I know she's taking it hard," the Doctor sighed as he accepted the plate.

"Taking what hard?" Harry sat beside the beanbag nicked a slice of bacon.

It was a little too crispy, as it always was when Rose cooked. He smiled a little at that.

"She's going to miss you. We all will," the Doctor said softly. He showed Harry the photograph he held.

A younger, blonder version of his mum and his laughing dad looked out of the photo at him. Rose wore a deep blue dress that hugged her figure and a sparkling silver veil shimmered around her head. The Doctor wore a tuxedo with a galaxy tie and his usual trainers, and in their arms, they held a little boy with a lightning bolt scar and wild black hair between them. The baby looked both surprised and happy, with a wide smile and wider eyes.

"That's us the weekend after we got the adoption paperwork taken care of. I've never been happier."

"Even happier than when you realized you and mum could be together?" Harry asked softly.

"Happier," the Doctor confirmed.

Harry suddenly felt the need to scarf down another two slices of bacon. His dad cleared his throat.

"We love you, Jemmy. We're going to miss you like crazy. For all I've said and how excited I've been for you…" the Doctor sighed and wrapped Harry in a strong hug.

"It's killing us that we can't go with you. You're going to deal with more than just boarding school, and we can't be there quickly enough if anything odd happens."

Harry could not help sniffling once, though he did refuse to cry.

"I'll be back for Christmas and Easter," he said thickly. "And when I'm a third year we can meet up at Hogsmeade."

"I read the book too, you know," the Doctor retorted. "Doesn't make it any less difficult to see your kid off for the first time."

"I'll write all the time. At least once a week."

The Doctor patted him on the back and ruffled his hair. Neither said anything more as they finished their breakfast. It was a comfortable quiet, if not a little wistful. When they finished, they climbed down the ladder together to join Jenny and Rose in the kitchen.

Rose had abandoned her dressing gown for another walking suit and a new outer robe from Madam Malkin's. Jenny sat, dejected and pouting, in yet another frilly dress.

"Are we all ready?" the Doctor asked, adjusting his tie.

"I think so," said Rose. She glanced at her watch. "Let's go, then."

…

They arrived at King's Cross Station a little after ten o'clock and decided to enjoy a cup of tea before Harry had to get on the train, but this presented them with the unusual problem of finding _where_ the train was supposed to be.

Harry had not actually looked at his ticket beyond reading the 'Hogwarts Express' part and the time of departure before that morning, but now, standing between platforms nine and ten, he started to feel a little anxious.

"It must be like the entrance to the Alley," he muttered. "You've got to know the secret to get in. The stupid books didn't say this part."

"No, they wouldn't have since they're written from the wizard's perspective," the Doctor agreed. "We just have to find where they hid the door."

"What about the rest of the platform?" Harry laughed.

Rose frowned.

"Did you see that?" she said suddenly.

Harry turned around to stare again in the direction of the barrier. His mother stood near it, her eyes fixed at the solid brick wall.

"What was it?" the Doctor asked, sonicking the air.

"A woman and her daughter disappeared, just there," Rose gestured to the barrier.

Harry put his hands to it. It seemed solid enough. He pushed, testing it.

He heard a high-pitched whir and almost fell as the Doctor charged past him. The brick supporting his weight seemed to dissolve under his hands, and he landed in a heap beside his dad beneath a wrought-iron archway from which a sign labelled _9 ¾_ swung in a light breeze.

A huge scarlet steam engine belched clouds of smoke over the heads of hundreds of people – very small children, parents, and Hogwarts-bound students – as they mulled about the station platform. A few stands sold food, tea, and trinkets along the other side of the platform. One enterprising businessperson even had a complete teashop erected beneath a purple and gold marquis.

"I love magic," the doctor enthused. "Come on, let's get mum and Jenny."

Mother and sister collected, they made their way to the marquis to sit at a spindly little table and sip hot tea while they watched the crowd swell while the clock inched toward 10:30. Harry felt anxious, just sitting there and waiting. At 10:45, he finally stood up.

"I think I should get going," he said a little stiffly.

He tried not to flinch as Jenny gave a loud sniffle.

"Stay safe," Rose whispered in his ear as she wrapped her arms around him.

Harry hugged her back, enjoying the brief smell of home that clung to her. He felt her lips against his cheek and could not quite feel embarrassed.

"Remember the rules," the Doctor said softly, coming in for his own hug.

Harry nodded.

"Help if I can do it safely, never walk away because it's easy, don't accept anything at face-value, and always be kind," Harry rattled off. "I know, Dad."

Jenny burst into tears and it was all Harry could do to not cry with her. He suddenly felt very, very young and very, very lonely.

"I don't want you to go," she wailed. "Who's going to fly me around and play detective with me and walk me to school?"

Harry bent to hug his baby sister. She threw her arms around his neck and clung as if he would disappear.

"Mum'll take you, and I'll write you every other day, and I'll still be here to play with you at Christmas and Easter and any other time I can come home."

"But that's so far away!" she cried.

Great, fat tears rolled over her pink, freckle-strewn cheeks. Harry hugged her tighter and pressed a kiss to her hot cheek.

"It won't seem very long once term starts for you," he said reasonably, injecting cheer into his voice despite the tightness in his throat. "Besides, you're so smart you'll be going to an exclusive boarding school once you're done with primary school, too. So, eventually we had to change things up a bit. I promise it won't be so bad."

"You'll forget about me, and it won't be the same when you come home!"

Harry breathed in slowly to fight the prickling in his eyes. His little sister always had this effect on him.

"Jenny Renette, I promise I'll always be your best friend, and you'll always be mine. I'm your brother, so you can't get rid of me. I will never, ever forget you, and I will never, ever, ever, _ever_ love you less."

Jenny pulled back a little to stare up at him with watery hazel eyes.

"You promise?"

"Yeah. I'll even carve it into a bit of Hogwarts stone, if you like."

She grinned, and her cheeked dimpled.

"And you better get me a really good Christmas present."

"I promise."

The Doctor cleared his throat.

"Alright, Jemmy. You better be off."

Harry nodded and looked to the clock. It was 10:50. He looked back to his mum, who had also started crying, and his dad and sister.

"Love you," Harry said softly.

Before anyone else could hug him or he – God forbid – started bawling, too, he turned and rolled his trunk to the train.

Harry almost regretted waiting so long to board. All of the compartments in the carriage were he first boarded were full, so he had to go on to the next. Almost at what he was sure had to be the end of the train – because it could not just keep going, could it? – Harry finally found the compartment he had hoped for.

He knocked on the door and Hermione Granger's face broke into a wide smile as soon as she opened it.

"Jamie!" she said a little breathlessly. "I was hoping you'd come by. Come in! This is Neville, by the way."

She gestured to the round-faced boy seated by the window. He gave Harry a shy grimace and rose to shake his hand. Harry took it and grinned back.

"Neville Longbottom," he said softly. "Need help with your trunk?"

Harry gladly wheeled the thing forward so the other boy could grab one end.

"Thanks. Even the feather-light doesn't fix its bulk."

Together, they hefted it into the overhead compartment. Hermione shut the door again and sat across from the boys while they took their seats.

"And I'm Harry Potter," Harry said, as if the trunk's presence hadn't interrupted their introductions.

Hermione shot him a look caught halfway between astonishment and anger.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I was trying to go incognito until we got here," he explained in a rush. "You know, famous and all."

The girl had the grace to blush and give him a wry smile.

"I suppose I forgive you. You _were_ ever so helpful at the shop. I was just telling Neville about it."

The round-faced boy reddened.

"Yeah," he said with open admiration. "It's sort of, well, amazing that you can do so much magic without a wand. It's really something!"

Harry's eyebrows rose.

"Really? I guess I'd better quit or people are going to start believing the stories," he dismissed. "I thought it was normal because I've been doing it since I was really little."

Neither Hermione nor Neville had anything to say to that, and when Harry went over the words again, he fought the urge to laugh.

"But then, I've never really had a great grasp on the concept of normal."

Neville blinked and shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, it's one thing when we're little," he expanded. "It's called 'accidental magic' then, but most kids grow out of it as they get older. Only really powerful wizards can do intentional magic without a wand."

Harry contemplated that for a moment and frowned.

"But that doesn't make any sense," he countered. "Mum said the first time I did it in front of her, I stole a biscuit from the kitchen. Levitated it into the sitting room. I probably really wanted one, so doesn't that make it intentional?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth as her expression cycled from curiosity to confusion and back again.

"Mum said they started encouraging it once I started that," Harry continued. "By the time I was eight I could levitate up to a piano without dropping it. And I figured other stuff out, too, like drying things, summoning things, lighting fires, fixing things. I even managed to teleport once. My sister ran into a street after a ball and a lorry almost hit her, but then we were both on the other side of the street just like that."

Harry snapped his fingers for emphasis and smiled.

Neville stared and worked his mouth again.

"Well, I guess…," he started. "I don't know. Maybe _you're_ just really powerful. But if all wizards could use wandless magic all the time, they would, wouldn't they?"

Harry shrugged.

"Maybe they just don't know they can."

And so started a debate on whether or not wandless magic was possible for most wizards, which only ended when Harry dared the both of them to try it sometime. Neither could levitate anything in the compartment, but Harry still didn't give up.

"It took me until now to have the type of control over it that I do," he insisted. "You should keep trying. If you haven't managed even a little by the end of the year, I'll buy you both a heap of chocolate from your favourite shop."

"Deal!" the other two agreed.

After that, the topic of conversation turned toward their destination, which seemed to hold a greater draw for them all as the landscape outside their window changed from city, to suburb, to countryside. They compared their knowledge on the subject eagerly. Hermione, like Harry, had read several books about Hogwarts, but Neville had his family's accounts about their experiences in school to share on top of that.

"Everyone in my family's gone," he confirmed. "Also, my gran was on the board of regents until a couple of years ago."

"So are you Augusta Longbottom's grandson?" Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Neville blushed.

"Yeah, sorry. You were probably expecting something different," he said softly, his chin slowly sinking toward his chest. "I don't think I inherited many of the Longbottom family traits."

Harry clapped his shoulder.

"Not at all. It's no surprise, considering how nice you are," Harry reassured him. "I just wondered because I've been through a bunch of society books forward and backward in the last few weeks."

"What for?" Neville asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious. Of course, it probably was, to her. Still, Harry admired her for suppressing her urge to answer and even more for hiding the gesture so as not to offend Neville, who both recognized as an uncommonly sensitive boy.

"Non-wizard raised, remember?" Harry said lightly. "I just found out my birth parents were a witch and a wizard in July. I had to look them up in a book to learn about them aside from the little my mum and dad knew, so when I found out they were peers it was just natural to learn how a wizarding peer of the realm would do business."

Harry grinned at Hermione.

"_That_ was an interesting conversation with my grandpa, let me tell you."

Hermione obligingly asked the obvious question.

"Why? Who's your grandfather?"

"Pete Tyler."

Hermione's eyes grew wide and her mouth opened and closed several times. Neville just looked between the two of them with a bewildered expression on his slightly pudgy face.

"Who's Pete Tyler?" he asked blankly.

Harry tried hard not to laugh. It wouldn't be nice, no matter how much fun he was having.

"British President," he said. "Exactly like the non-wizard Minister for Magic."

"Wow. I didn't know the muggles had one of those."

Harry's grin faded immediately.

"What do you mean?" he asked hesitantly. "Of course they would."

He looked to Hermione, whose face held similar traces of distress. Neville shifted nervously in his seat and shrugged helplessly.

"We're not taught much about muggles, except how to escape them and contact help if we accidently do magic in front of them, or if we're attacked."

"I mean-" Harry paused to shake his head clear of the indignation quickly gathering there. "I _know_ the wizarding and non-wizarding societies are separate out of necessity, but how can you not know _anything_ about us? I mean, how many wizards are there in Britain?"

Neville frowned and puckered his face a moment as he thought.

"I _think_ Gran said the populations somewhere around 14,000 wizards and witches, including the ones not yet admitted to Hogwarts."

Harry and Hermione shared another astounded look while Harry started on the mental maths.

"Neville," he finally murmured. "Non-wizards in the UK outnumber wizards _four thousand and five hundred_ to one."

The boy gaped.

"Do you see why I think it a _little_ odd wizards don't know anything about them? You are still _British_ after all."

Hermione bobbed her head in silent but vehement agreement while Neville shook his head in amazement.

"And I think a lot of the prejudice I've already seen probably comes from that same ignorance," Hermione added gently. "Muggles have done a lot without magic. They've even flown to the moon."

"The moon? Really?"

Neville leaned forward as Harry and Hermione began taking turns explaining the Wizless (as they got tired of saying non-wizard) world. They even started enjoying it. Harry and Hermione taught Neville how to play poker and black jack, and Neville taught them exploding snap. During their third round of poker and on their ninth topic shift concerning the wizless world, the door clattered open and a stranger walked in.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I join you?" asked a red-haired boy with innumerable freckles and a dark smudge across the right side of his nose.

He dragged a tattered trunk forward.

"My brothers kicked me out."

Hermione frowned at the boy who had already entered the compartment without their permission, but said nothing as Harry looked him over.

"Sure. But do knock next time," he suggested. "What if we were all girls and we were changing or something?"

The redhead blushed maroon.

"Sorry about that. It's just-" he flushed darker, if that was possible. "I really hate spiders and my brothers and their friend were taunting me with this great hairy tarantula. I just needed to get away. And a lot of the upper-years don't like firsties."

Harry smiled and held out a hand to help the boy with his trunk.

"No worries. Just keep it in mind in the future."

Harry grunted as they struggled to push the trunk up into the overhead rack. Its feather-light charms, if it ever had any, had long since expired.

"Thanks," the redhead said gratefully. "I'm Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger," Harry said, pointing to himself and his new friends in succession. "All first-year."

But if Ron Weasley heard the rest of the introductions, he did not show any indication, for as soon as Harry said his name, the boy stared and his mouth dropped open. Harry frowned when the expression lingered through the rest of his sentence and stretched awkwardly into the following silence. A glance at Hermione made her exasperation clear, too.

"Do you have-" Ron dropped his voice into a whisper and his eyes darted to Harry's forehead. "You-know-what?"

Harry looked to Neville, leaning away from the interloper.

"Is this how everyone's going to act as soon as I introduce myself?"

Neville laughed nervously.

"Yeah. Sorry. The wizarding world's sort of mad about you."

"It's been _ten years_," Harry complained. "And I was a baby. It was probably something my birth parents did before Voldemort even got to me."

Neville shuddered delicately and Hermione made a small _eep_ sound. Ron paled several shades.

"You can't say You-Know-Who's name. It's a jinx."

Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest as he took his seat again. He really had begun to hate that idiotic title. He would not admit the small shiver he felt starting at the top of its spine whenever it was mentioned. The Doctor had said it had to do with the power of a name, especially one unsaid. It was like acknowledging a being as so otherworldly as to be afforded the extra respect of not acknowledging his or her mortal roots. It was the same type of fear that went into the Master's title, he explained.

As it was too late to expel Ron from the compartment without good reason, Harry felt he was justified in going about other methods to maintaining his mood. And, he had no compunctions about making the interloper feel uncomfortable at that point.

"Why? It's just a name. He's dead." Harry shrugged and took a deep breath. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort in pink knickers, Voldemort. V-o-l-d-e-m-o-r-t, Voldemort."

Ron looked rather green. Even Neville, who had started out wincing at the beginning of Harry's miniature rant, now seemed on the verge of hysterical giggles. Hermione had reached that point as soon as Harry said "pink knickers."

Harry grinned.

"It's a stupid name, anyhow. It means 'flight from death' in French. He was just as imperfect and human as the rest of us if he was so afraid of dying," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe even less than that, considering most folks respond to that fear by making the most of the good in life rather than trying to squash it."

Ron did not respond, and after another several moments of awkward silence, Harry, Neville and Hermione resumed their games. They had almost got comfortable ignoring the fourth occupant of their compartment – almost – when the door slid open a second time.

A boy with a pointed, pale face and fine features stood in the jamb. Like Harry, he was dressed in a fine-cut suit of vaguely Edwardian origin along with a tailored outer robe. Harry took all this in with a glance from the corner of his eye, choosing rather to continue his game than to acknowledge further rudeness. But then the boy's hulking lackeys shouldered their way into the compartment with the blonde one between them, and Hermione visibly twitched.

Rule number six popped to the forefront of his mind: _Try not to be rude unless someone's in danger._

Harry thought "threatening" was close enough to qualify.

"Is it-" the blonde boy began, but Harry cut him off.

"You are intruding with neither introduction nor invitation upon the compartment of the scion to the Noble and Most Ancient Potter line and that of his friends," Harry said formally without looking up from his hand. "Get out before I show you why I _alone_ remain."

Hermione, Neville and Ron stared at Harry incredulously. The boy's nose wrinkled in an ugly snarl, but he turned on his heel and left the compartment with his bookends in tow without another word.

"That was _wicked_," Ron gushed. "Did you see Malfoy's face? It was all green like someone kicked him in the stones."

"Excuse me?" gasped Hermione, scandalised.

Neville laughed.

"That was really cool," he agreed. "How'd you do that? Malfoy always messes with me at social events."

Harry smiled.

"My mum and dad just say to act like you own the place, and if you do it well enough, it convinces everyone else you actually do."

Neville didn't look convinced.

"So, urm, you were talking about muggle sports earlier?" Ron started, his face the picture of shy hope.

Harry grinned.

"Yeah. Do you know any wizarding sports?"

Ron lit up and leaned forward.

"You have _got_ to know about Quidditch to be a proper wizard."

* * *

**_Five Hours, A Dozen Chocolate Frogs, Several Rounds of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Roulette, and Four Pumpkin Pasties Later_**

Harry craned his neck to look up at the sparkling castle towering over the cliff above him and received a reward in the form of a heavy vine hitting him in the face.

"Sorry!" Neville whispered. "I thought you'd catch it."

Harry rubbed his slightly reddened cheek.

"No, I deserve it for not paying attention," he murmured back. "This place is _beautiful_."

Hermione caught his eye and beamed.

"I can't believe we're actually going to learn _magic!_" she gushed.

"Neither can I," Neville muttered.

His shoulders hunched forward and remained so as the boats pulled into the gravelly bank and the students, following Hagrid (who Harry could not help but feel he remembered from somewhere) made their way through the heavy castle door and up the stairs to a reception room. The Deputy Headmistress, a tall, stern witch with sharp, cat-like eyes introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, gave instructions to smarten themselves up, and promptly disappeared through the double doors again. In her wake, everyone broke into conversation all at once. Almost everyone seemed worried about the sorting, including Hermione, Neville and Ron.

"I hope I've studied enough-"

"Gran'll be so disappointed if I'm a Hufflepuff-"

"Weasleys haven't been sorted anywhere but Gryffindor in three generations-"

Harry tried to fight down the anxiety rapidly building in his chest. It was ridiculous, really. How much could it matter?

"So what's the big deal with the four houses?" he finally asked, in part to distract his new friends and more to distract himself.

"Aside from what I've already read," Harry said quickly at Hermione's expression.

"Oh, well, Gryffindor's supposed to be for the brave and true of heart, Hufflepuff's for the hard-working and loyal, Slytherin's for the ambitious, and Ravenclaw's for the true academics."

"Yeah, but Gryffindor's the best," Ron added. "And Slytherin's full of potential dark lords and You-Know-Who's followers' kids. The whole lot's rotten."

Neville nodded a little hopelessly.

Harry thought about that a moment.

"So, reckless, power-hungry, or book-worm."

Ron and Hermione looked scandalised. Neville blinked, and Harry grinned.

"Not that there's anything wrong with those things given the right context, but I'll take a loyal mate any day."

Neville beamed and Hermione got a shrewd look on her face, but didn't say anything. Ron grumbled a little poor-spiritedly to himself.

Harry adjusted the silver clasp on his new Hogwarts robes and nervously smoothed his hand through his hair. It felt okay, styled as it was, but the back still stuck up at an odd angle. Hermione braided her long, rebellious, kinky chocolate curls into an endearingly messy fishtail and attempted to make the frizzy locks around her brow behave as well. But then, a new distraction arrived in the form of twenty ghosts sailing through the back wall.

"Beautiful!" Harry nearly shouted amidst startled screams. "What have you read about ghosts, Hermione?"

The girl worried her lower lip for a moment, completely recovered from her momentary shock at their appearance.

"They're an the physical manifestation of a wizard or witch's consciousness when their soul passes from this plane. The soul goes on to wherever they do, but it's said that if a wizard had unfinished business strong enough to anchor an imprint of his magic, the result would be a ghost."

Harry grinned.

"I have _got _to tell my dad about this."

Hermione smiled.

"Is he a paranormal enthusiast?"

Harry smirked.

"Sort of. I suppose it's not an inaccurate description."

His new friend seemed to absorb that for a moment.

"What exactly do your parents _do_?" she asked shrewdly. "I've never actually read anything about them or seen anything on the telly. President Pete's not one to expose his kids to the media."

"They're sort of special detectives, I guess you could say," Harry said after a moment of consideration.

"So they're law officers?"

"No," Harry laughed. "They're freelancers for whoever needs their help. They've worked with the government, with the police, and with other governments. They even let me tag along, sometimes, if I wasn't at school, but usually I just looked after my sister."

Both Neville and Hermione got a wistful look to their faces.

"How old's your sister?" Ron asked. "I've got five older brothers and a younger sister. She's coming to school next year."

Harry felt a little guilty at that. He didn't think Jenny would ever get to see Hogwarts except in his letters, unless the Doctor came up with something even more extraordinary than usual.

"Jenny's five. She was really upset when she realized she couldn't come with me. We've been best friends since she was born."

"Yeah," Ron said a little gloomily. "Ginny cried, too."

"There's always letters," Hermione said sympathetically. "And wizarding photographs move! Maybe you and I could go in together for a camera so my parents could see Hogwarts, too."

Harry grinned and gave her a quick hug.

"That'd be brilliant. Thanks, Hermione."

Her brown cheeks flushed rosily and she muttered a mild dismissal.

"Move along now," a sharp, Scottish voice rang through the reception room. "The sorting will begin in a moment."

Professor McGonagall directed them to form a single-file, alphabetical queue before the heavy oaken doors. The ghosts went straight through them before she could push them open, and then Harry found himself walking forward beneath a ceiling composed clouds, inky black, and twinkling starlight.

"Amazing," he whispered.

"It's bewitched to-" Hermione began.

"Look like the sky outside, I know, but words just don't do it justice."

Gothic vaulted arches stretched from the edges of the hall upward to simply fade into the velvety blanket above them, as if there were no ceiling at all.

Hermione giggled.

"It's not often anyone can out-quote me," she whispered.

"I promise I won't do it often enough that you'll get put out with me. Dad says the best people out there have a clever girl telling them what's what."

Ron snickered.

"He's met my mum, then."

To their collective surprise, Neville snorted, too.

"And my Gran," he added.

A hush stole over the seated students at the four long tables and down the line of first years as McGonagall directed them to stop at the centre of the hall. Harry heard his name whispered over and over through the room. It was all he could do either to keep from jumping on the table and doing a jig or running from the hall as fast as he could. He wondered if this was how the Doctor felt all the time and resolved to handle it with more grace and humility than his father was typically known for.

Quiet finally fell completely when McGonagall placed a four-legged stool before the head table and dropped a patched, frayed, dirty old wizard's hat on top of it.

That definitely wasn't what Harry expected. Were they to draw lots from its depths?

To his astonishment the hat squirmed, twitched and shudder as a wide gap opened near its brim. With a bow toward each house's table and one for the professors, the hat broke out in song:

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_I'm not a woolen bowler,_

_Nor a top hat sleek and tall,_

_I'm the one and only Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing in your head or heart_

_That I can't clearly read,_

_Have no fear nor doubts, my dears,_

_I'll choose the house you need._

_You might belong to Gryffindor,_

_Whose kind are brave and true,_

_Chivalrous souls will thrive in his pride, too;_

_You might belong to Hufflepuff,_

_Whose pack is just and loyal,_

_Fair Helga's steadfast kin are unafraid of toil;_

_Or perhaps you'll go to Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a keen, bright, strong mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning will always find their kind;_

_Great Slytherin remains to you who seek a few true friends,_

_And to top the rest, you cunning folk,_

_Stop not 'fore achieving your ends._

_So put me on! Do not Fear!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The hall burst into applause, the first years barely joining them in time for it to die down again, and then McGonagall called forward the first students to be sorted. Harry felt his stomach twist. He had a fair idea of where he might land based on the discussions he shared with his parents.

Abbot, Hanna went first. Then Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst, Lavender Brown and Millicent Bulstrode walked forward, tried the Hat, and went to the house it dictated. Each time, the responding table would accept its new housemate with cheers and applause, until McGonagall called Granger, Hermione to sit atop the stool.

Harry tried to give her a smile of encouragement as she walked forward, visibly trembling from head to toe. The sight made his own nervousness flare further as he watched the Hat fall over her eyes. She sat a long moment, her lower lip caught between her teeth, while the Hat stilled and deliberated.

"Hufflepuff!" it finally declared.

Hermione grinned and hopped off the stool to join her new house. A few older Hufflepuffs made room for her as she crossed to their table. Harry and Neville whistled and cheered with the rest of them, louder than any other first-years.

Before he felt quite ready, Moon, Nott, Parkinson, two Patils and a Sally-Anne Perks had left the queue to stand judgement. None remained before him and only a short queue waited behind.

McGonagall paused longer than she had when calling the other names.

"Potter, Harry," she enunciated clearly.

Whispers spread like rushing water through the hall and intensified while he walked toward the stool and the shabby headwear.

"Did she say _Potter?_"

"Harry Potter- _The_ Harry Potter?"

"Where's the scar?"

"Where are the glasses? Didn't James potter have glasses?"

He sat on the stool gingerly and McGonagall dropped the magical accessory over his crown. It fell almost to his nose and Harry resisted the urge to sneeze as the craning faces were lost behind the veil of ancient fabric. How many heads had been in there before his own?

_Too many to count, I assure you,_ a voice said in Harry's mind.

He clenched the edges of the seat and sucked in a breath.

_I'm used to my dad's telepathy but this is just plain weird,_ he thought back.

_And yet you're not afraid. That speaks to Gryffindor, Mr Tyler. I see you're not afraid of much. Aliens from outer space! Time Lords... Different dimensions... Secret wars- How marvellously frightening._

_I figure I'd fit pretty well there, based on your description, _Harry thought hopefully.

The Hat seemed to convulse, and Harry belatedly realised it was laughing. He wondered what it looked like to everyone else.

_As if I'm having a very difficult time sorting you, and I am, really_, the Hat graciously admitted._ You're quite clever. Very keen, indeed. So much knowledge already, and such a thirst for more. You'd do well in Ravenclaw._

It took a moment for Harry to organise his thoughts with another presence thinking among them.

_But you won't put me there,_ he finally concluded._ Because I like knowledge and witticism for more than just my personal gratification or for just the sake of knowing._

_Yes, you want to _do_ something with it,_ the Hat said gravely._ You want to _help_ people._

The Hat seemed to hum to itself for a moment. Harry tried not to think about how boring it must be to be a hat on every other day of the year.

_No, you can't help me. I'm not a person, anyway, as odd as that is given that I'm also self-aware,_ the Hat chuckled._ But you know, not everyone wants help. It's a rather ambitious goal, helping people. Very difficult. Very brave. _

_It's what's_ _right,_ Harry thought resolutely. _I want to be the type of person wise enough and strong enough to make a difference. Everyone has a responsibility to his or her fellow sentient to get rid of the inequalities that oppress them. I'm a wizard, and my dad's a Time Lord. It'd be horrible if I just sat on everything I know - and everything I know I'll be able to do - when there's so much wrong out there. _

The Hat felt oddly silent in the part it occupied in Harry's head. The boy could almost feel it there, like he could feel his socks hugging his feet whenever he thought to think of them.

_I'm going to ignore the comparison to your stockings, Master Tyler, since yours is __an ambition worthy of a Slytherin. I'm sure you didn't mean me offense. Anyway, are you sure that's the path you want to take?_

Harry briefly considered Ron's easy and bitter dismissal of the same-said house, and Neville's grudging fear of it. He thought about his birth parents, who, according to the books, had been Gryffindors during their own time as students, and the demographics of those who had hunted and fought against them before their too-early death. He thought about the Doctor and Rose, travelling through time and space and standing in defiance of fear, ignorance and hate.

_My mum and dad found me on a doorstep and decided to adopt me when no one else wanted me,_ he commented as his resolve coalesced._ Did you know that?_

_I know everything in your head,_ _Mr Tyler,_ the Hat murmured sympathetically. _Are you sure? You don't seem like you want_ _to go there._

_I don't care if it's difficult,_ he answered after a moment. _Put me where I'll make the biggest difference._

_Then it had better be…_

"SLYTHERIN!"

It shouted the last out loud and Harry grimaced.

_Bravely go where few dare to tread,_ it whispered as Harry lifted the Hat from over his eyes. _And beware: One man, no matter how good or how powerful, can only do so much. It is easy with such talent to forget the will of those you'd like to save and, in time, become that which you wished to eradicate._

The hall lay eerily quiet. Harry could hear only breathing and an occasional creak as weight shifted on the long wooden benches. Harry anxiously looked around at his peers as he walked toward Slytherin table. The other first-year Slytherins made room for him, though their faces remained carefully blank when he made eye contact. He paused. The nearest first-year, the Malfoy boy, raised a platinum brow at him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry spun on his heel and plastered a mischievous smile across his face.

"Sorry, everyone," he said loudly.

Amidst the unnatural stillness, his voice carried easily across the hall.

"I know your expectations are probably shattered into tiny pieces of disappointment right now, but I've got major plans for my life. Don't worry, though," he urged. "I promise I'm not out for world domination, absolute dominion or what have you."

Hermione, Neville, and two redheaded twins at Neville's table burst into nervous giggles just as Harry took his seat among his housemates. Belatedly, Slytherin table broke into cheer, and some – Harry wasn't sure who, exactly – began shouting:

"We got Potter!"

Still, it cut off quickly in light of the rest of the stubbornly silent hall, and the remainder of the first-years joined their houses to somewhat muted adulation. Harry barely paid attention as the Headmaster stood and spread his arms wide. He was _so_ hungry. Those pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs had been a long time ago. Harry pulled a fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and clicked it open.

It was well past nine and going on ten. He hoped supper wasn't this late every day, or he'd have to write home for a snack stash.

"Welcome!" the headmaster said, beaming as if it were Christmas come early. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! It is a pleasure to see you all safely here. Now, before we begin our feast, I would like to impart unto you a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

He sat down. Harry cheered. The man at least had the sense to keep things short in the presence of a thousand very hungry teens and preteens.

"Hear, hear!" he crowed.

Harry folded his napkin into his lap and took hold of his golden knife and fork. If the food did not arrive in _two_ seconds he felt like he might try eating the gleaming plate. But, to his relief and delight, the table soon groaned beneath the weight of pheasants, hams, beef roasts, vegetables in rich stews and sauces, salads, pastas, soups, pies, breads, cheeses, and every condiment ever conceived by a Brit, Scott or European.

Harry tucked in. He had not felt so ravenous since his father decided they should explore that haunted moor together. It had not ended well. It took three days to find their way out again after following around strange lights, and their food ran out on the second. His mother had been livid. The Doctor had slept on the sofa for a week, and the tree house had been locked for two.

He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and took a long drink of pumpkin juice – it tasted delightfully spicy, like pumpkin pie might if it were more refreshing and much lighter on the palate. It went deliciously with everything he sampled. Once his belly stopped griping at him, Harry finally found the motivation to listen in on the conversation buzzing around him, or what little there was to be had. It seemed his new housemates were unsure as to his placement among them.

"Well, I'm Harry Potter," he said bluntly, and a little louder than necessary so as to interrupt the whispers that were clearly about him. "I did _not_ kill the Dark Lord, despite what anyone says, and I'm happy to be friends with anyone who wishes to be one to me."

His housemates' faces remained either carefully blank or quickly clouded with disbelief.

"I enjoy chocolate, science fiction novels, travelling, experimenting, and my favourite subject so far is potions," he continued. "I wasn't raised in the wizarding world for my safety, but my father and mother have been helping me master my magic since I first started showing it."

At this, many of the facades around him cracked a little.

Harry tried not to smile, he really did.

"And I like Earl Grey tea, white with one sugar, and my favourite colour is dark, royal blue. Any questions so far?"

A beat of silence, then –

"How could wizards raise you in the muggle world?"

"What potions have you tried?"

"Do you have any siblings?"

"You said your parents, but everyone knows you grew up with relatives. Were you adopted?"

And so the questions went. Nothing serious came up, aside from the somewhat rude parenting jabs, but Harry suspected it would give away too much to ask the _real_ questions out loud. Better to observe. Harry took great pleasure in noting their reactions to his answers, which he kept purposefully cryptic.

"Easily, with a great big notice-me-not around our house, and lots of wonderful toys and appliances inside."

"I'm very interested in the draught of sleeping death; I think it may be the origin of many Wizless fairy tales."

"I have a five-year-old sister, and she's even more talented than I am."

And then it was Harry's turn to be an interrogator as he worked his way through a third helping of treacle tart despite a protesting waistband.

He learned the names of all the first years and most of the second years, as well as the six prefects for their house. He learned which professors taught what and which of those headed their house. Harry felt a little confused when he looked at the dark-haired man sitting at the head table speaking to the purple-turbaned professor the others identified as Quirrel. As he watched them, something knocked sharply and insistently against the walls in his head. His scar twinged a little, and Harry looked down again.

_That_ was worrisome. He needed to research whether wizards are all telepaths or not.

When the desserts finally disappeared – Harry gave a silent prayer of thanks for saving him from another unneeded helping of treacle – the headmaster rose to his feet and the conversation again died out.

"Now that we are all watered and fed, I have a few short start-of-term announcements before I can release you all to your dreams.

"First, I would like to welcome Professor Quirinus Quirrel back from his practical tour of Europe, an effort from which I am sure you all shall benefit as he assumes his post as instructor for Defence Against the Dark Arts."

A light smattering of applause met this news and Quirrel stood shakily to bow and smile at the students nervously.

"Thank you, Professor Quirrel. On a related note, first years should bear in mind the forest on grounds remains forbidden to all students, hence its name. Some older students would do well to remember that, as well."

The headmaster's eyes twinkled as they fell on the redheaded twins who Harry suspected to be Ron's aforementioned older brothers.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, our beloved caretaker, to remind you magic and enchanted items are not to be used in the halls between classes. There are several unassigned classrooms open for study and experimentation with the observation of any prefect with the approval of a staff member."

The prefects stood at Dumbledore's signal and Harry noted all their faces.

"Quidditch trials shall be held on the second weekend of term. Any and all interested in playing for his or her house should contact Madam Hooch and his or her head of house as soon as possible. As a reminder, first years may only try out with the prior approval of both Madam Hooch and their head-of-house. Free-flying, however, is restricted to second-years and older without the supervision of a staff member or prefect.

"And finally," the headmaster continued, his voice dropping gravely. "The third floor corridor will be out-of-bounds for the remainder of the year to everyone who does not wish to die an exceptionally painful death."

No one laughed, even Harry, whose first inclination was to toast the frankly ridiculous wizard.

"Is he serious?" he asked the nearest person.

The Slytherin prefect cocked an eyebrow.

"I imagine he is. Else he's conducting another mad experiment. A few years ago he rearranged the timetables and put the majority of the first and second year Gryffindors and Slytherins together for their double periods."

"And that was bad?"

The prefect, Terence Higgs, shrugged.

"Terrible except in potions. Everyone rather hates us, you know."

"I plan to change that," Harry whispered with a secretive smile. "Ambition and good dress sense doesn't make us evil."

Terence Higgs smirked subtly.

"You'll fit right in, Potter."

The headmaster had tapped his podium for silence, and eventually they gave it. He cleared his throat and twinkled at them all.

"Now, if you'll join me in singing our Alma Mater before we trot off to bed."

A wave of the headmaster's wand sent a ribbon of golden light into the air over the head table to spell out lyrics befitting a Suessical Musical.

"Just pick any tune you like. And one, and two, and-"

It was horrible and wonderful at the same time.

Wonderful in its whimsy and horrible in what it did to Harry's ears. He, of course, compensated by shouting the lyrics to Disney's 'A Whole New World' at the top of his lungs.

_"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn 'till our brains all rot._

Everyone finished at different times until only the Weasley twins remained, singing the last lines in a slow dirge with Dumbledore conducting them through the finish. He clapped among the loudest when they stopped to bow to the rest of the hall.

"Ah, Music!" the headmaster sighed, conspicuously twinkly-eyed. "What greater joy is there in life? And now, to bed, all of you."

Harry was convinced, now: The headmaster could be nothing if not unequivocally as mad.

The hall filled with great bangs and scrapes as a thousand students rose to follow their prefects to the dormitories. Harry yawned hugely. It was now eleven at night and he was thoroughly exhausted. He followed the flow of Slytherins in green and silver trimmings out of the great hall and down the main staircase. Down and down they went, hundreds of feet pounding on the marble steps, until they left the bright and airy upper castle behind and descended into the dimly lit, damp and draughty lower levels.

Terence Higgs and Bridget Blishwick, the female prefect for the sixth years, paused as they reached a long corridor at the base of a wide, spiralling staircase.

"We are now on the first level of the dungeons," said Bridget. "If you go left here, you'll find your way to Professor Snape's office and the potions labs. We're going right."

_Right_ led to a veritable maze of corridors, cellars, dungeons, half-forgotten classrooms, and suits of armour. They left the potions corridor far behind the right-leading archway as the prefects took them straight, left, right, right again, left again, straight for a while, right, right, left, until they arrived at a dead end. The stone wall looked like every other wall they had encountered thus far, but Harry could _feel_ there was something here.

Blishwick and Higgs turned to face the group.

"You will learn to find our common room based upon your sense for magical auras. All true Slytherins will master finding it within the week. Until then, you are welcome to ask any older Slytherin and they will help you," said Higgs.

"The first rule to being in Slytherin is solidarity," Blishwick added.

Harry could tell they had done this at least once before.

"While you may have your political battles amongst each other, you _will_ keep them private outside the walls of our common room. We must be united in the face of the other houses' opposition and scorn. We are not given clemency or understanding from any non-Slytherins, so this is our most sacred rule."

Harry nodded slightly to himself. It made sense, and he began to understand the situation a little better. Really, there was no other way to be in the face of greater numbers, so it was no wonder the majority rushed to paint Slytherin with the same brush.

"The password is: Icarus."

The wall groaned. With a puff of dust, a hidden door jerked back and slid away to admit the first years to Slytherin house. Inside waited a long, high-ceilinged room with rough-hewn walls. Round, squat lanterns suspended by intricately spun silver chains hung from the dark, vaulted glass ceiling at intervals, casting cool, flickering light over a setting of plush, high-backed chairs and low, marble-topped tables. An elaborately worked fireplace bisected the back wall, around which a few chaise lounges and sofas sat in a semicircle. A few of the upper years – the other four prefects and their friends, mostly – began levitating the remaining seating around the fire until the floor stood filled save for an aisle leading from the door to a small clearing near the fire.

"Before you go off to bed," the oldest-looking female prefect, Rachel Max, called. "We want to give you a few more house rules and introduce you to our head of house."

Harry sat between Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass on one of the long sofas. The other first years climbed sleepily into chairs and lounges until only floor space remained, but given the deep pile of the plush, emerald green carpet, the deficit seemed not to bother anyone. The number of yawns and droopy eyes vastly increased with every passing moment.

"Now," Blishwick continued, taking over for her senior. "We expect you to make your introductions throughout the week. You will learn very quickly that if you do not have friends in Slytherin, you're not likely to make any elsewhere. Networking is a crucial skill to political survival."

"And the friends you make here will help you succeed in finding success once you _leave_ Hogwarts," Max added. "In many cases, a person's best assets are the people he or she knows."

"So here are the rules," Higgs said. "As Blishwick so aptly put it before, our solidarity is paramount to Slytherin House survival. We will always show unity in the face of other houses or teachers. Never, ever, undermine another Slytherin in public. You may, of course, report your fellow Slytherins for misdeeds behind closed doors, even to a teacher, if necessary, but never in front of other students."

"Second, we do not speak of blood purity, money, or our personal political leaning in public. Let people make their own assumptions about you," Blishwick warned. "I extend that same advice to the common room, too. You will be competing for position, but unity's difficult in public if we are divided in private."

"Third," Higgs said with a pointed look at them all. "Make intelligent choices reflective of your Slytherin nature. If you fail in that endeavour, do not get caught. Whatever punishment assigned you will be tripled by your housemates."

Lots of room for ambiguity there, Harry thought, and plenty of potential for misinterpretation.

Behind them, the door slid open again with a low, grinding sound and shoes clicked sharply against the polished marble floor before they became lost upon the carpet.

"Welcome fledgling Slytherins," a smooth voice said in a tone barely above a whisper.

It carried through the room, though, and Harry had the sudden urge to keep very, very still.

"I am Professor Severus Snape, potions master for Hogwarts, and your head of house," he murmured as he approached the fire.

When he reached it, he turned to look at them all with dark, nearly black eyes. Harry felt a light brush on his mind and carefully kept his face blank.

"While you are here, you are my charges. As such, I expect the best from you at all times. In return, I will be your staunch defender in any case against Slytherin. Your interests are my interests. Do not hesitate to notify me if someone endangers your goals or those of our house."

A small smirk played at the corner of the man's severe mouth.

"Unlike the house of the dunderheads or the vainglorious," he sneered, "You must all meet certain levels of academic achievement to remain in good standing with me. Fail to do so, and you will lose such privileges as weekends, out-of-school excursions, and holidays."

He paused as he searched their faces.

"Are we understood?"

Harry answered along with his housemates.

"Yes, Professor Snape."

"Very good. Impress me by earning high marks and house points, and I will reward you accordingly. I have been known, in the past, to provide special passes to visit home during term, as well as permission for in-house parties or other such… Gifts."

Harry thought the man's eyes lingered on him a smidge longer than on his fellows when the professor spoke of impressing him.

"Now, off to bed. Your prefects will distribute your timetables by the time you return from breakfast tomorrow. Your first class will begin on Monday promptly at nine. If you are late, I shall know."

The potions mater swept out of the room as quickly as he came, leaving the first years to follow the prefects off to their dormitories. The boys split off toward one side the room, where yet another ornately carved archway led away from the common room. They went down two flights of stairs to a wide landing, off which led three doorways, each numbered 1 through 3.

Higgs opened the first door for them to reveal a moderately sized den with several desks and tables, shelves of books, and a few crates stacked with wizarding board and card games. A fire roared in a pit at the centre of the room, surrounded by more plush carpets and green upholstered poufs.

"This is the first year's dormitory," Higgs explained. "As you probably guessed, this is the first year's common study. In others, please behave respectfully toward your dorm-mates. You're allowed to have ladies in the study area only until curfew, and any complaints of noise or other disturbances will be met with harsh punishment. And, just in case some among you are more mature or stupid than your peers, if you try to sneak a girl into your room at any point, everyone will know. Likewise, if you visit your female counterparts in their dorm, the same rules will apply. You may not wander to another year's common study without an invitation."

The prefect looked about at all their tired faces and nodded once.

"Right. Bed. Sleep well. Pick your rooms. They're all the same, so don't argue too long."

His duties complete and instructions given, Higgs shut the door, leaving Malfoy, Nott, Goyle, Crabbe, Zabini and Harry behind. They looked at each other for a long moment, then at the six doors leading off the study.

"It was good meeting all of you today," Harry finally said. "I look forward to studying with you all."

"Yeah. Night, Potter," said Zabini simply before going to one of the doors.

He closed it behind him and a silver nameplate immediately appeared on its face.

Nott, Goyle and Crabbe muttered similar greetings before lumbering off. Malfoy remained to look curiously at Harry as Harry eyed the unoccupied room to Zabini's right, adjacent to the den's entrance.

"I wanted to apologize," the blonde said at last, his voice low in case the other boys were paying attention behind their doors. "I behaved rudely earlier."

Harry met his eyes and granted the boy a shrug and a smile.

"That's alright, Malfoy. Just try not to make assumptions about people," he lightly advised. "Generally, it doesn't turn out in the presumptuous party's favour."

And with that, Harry crossed the den to his new bedroom and shut and locked the door behind him. Hedwig waited for him already, standing on a bronze perch by a small, round-bellied wood stove which squatted beneath a wide, round vent.

"Is that how you get in and out?" Harry wondered, looking up at the hole in the ceiling nine feet above the heater. He ran his hand over the air there and was surprised to find it warm, but not too hot.

"Well, at least I won't freeze down here," he mumbled.

Harry sat at the eleven-year-old sized escritoire beside his luxurious four-poster bed, jotted down a quick note to his parents and Jenny, gave it to Hedwig, and crawled on top of the sheets. He didn't even manage to take his contacts out before he fell into a deep sleep.


	6. Probably a Mass Murderer

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: A reader had a question about where Harry got his ticket. I made the assumption that under normal procedure, a prospective Hogwarts student would receive it via Owl post as soon as they accepted their invitation to Hogwarts.

**January 16, 2016: Earlier this week, the world not only lost a great talent in Alan Rickman, but also a supremely wonderful human being. I dedicate this chapter and my recent updates to him, and urge you to go on youtube to check out his last work. **

**It's an ad for nonprofit efforts to help refugees, narrating a tortoise nomming on a strawberry. I do not joke, and you are seriously missing out by not witnessing and paying homage to it. Put it on repeat. Honor his memory by helping the last effort he put his talent towards.**

Thanks for your comments, faves, and patience. Happy reading.

* * *

Chapter Six: Probably a Mass Murderer

* * *

**2 September 2012**

_Dear Mum, Dad and Jenny,_

_I arrived safely at Hogwarts. I'm now officially a Slytherin-in-training. Love you all. And I haven't forgotten my promise, Jen. I'll find a great rock somewhere and carve you a promise._

_Love,_

_Harry_

…

Harry was intensely glad September first had fallen on a Saturday, or else he surely would have gotten lost come Monday morning's 9:00 a.m. potions class. The castle was larger than he could have ever conceived and amazing for more than just its impressive size. Stairs upon stairs climbed up and down, sideways, around and every which way, and constantly changed irrespective of whether someone was using them or not. So, after spending the first several hours after his breakfast on Sunday morning exploring, Harry felt immensely glad he had spent the last several years involved in football clubs, or else the constant climbing would have left him winded and clutching stitches in his side.

Her carried a camera with him he had rented off Rachel Max upon the receipt of his timetable that morning. Every few moments, some new curiosity caught his eye, and he snapped a photo for Jenny. So far, he had discovered the astronomy tower, the classroom of an S. Trelawny, and Professor McGonagall's office.

It was during his exploration of the rest of the seventh floor when he came across Hermione and Neville, who were apparently doing the same as him, minus the mental mapping ability.

"Hermione, Nev!" he called as he rounded the corner.

They looked up from the parchment held between them and both broke into wide smiles.

"Hi Harry!" Neville said with a grin. "Check it out," he said, flashing his Gryffindor crest. "I made it after all."

"Yeah, I saw! Congrats."

Harry clapped his shoulder and smiled at Hermione, who timidly returned the gesture.

"Trying to find your classes for tomorrow?"

She nodded and held out the parchment.

"We're making a map. One of my prefects told me he'd make copies for all the Hufflepuff first years and one for Gryffindor if we made a workable draft," she said in a rush. Her face pinched a little as she eyed it again. "It's just so huge, though."

"Yep. Gargantuan," Harry readily agreed. "Really bigger than it should be. Did you notice?"

Neville grinned ruefully.

"She threw a fit when we went outside, and she realized there isn't even really a seventh floor if we go by the windows"

"I love magic," Harry quipped happily.

Hermione huffed, and her hands went to her hips.

"Well, it shouldn't disobey the laws of physics. Everything I've been witnessing is making me feel I've wasted countless hours studying for nothing."

Harry looped his arms through her and Neville's elbows.

"Never say that, 'Mione. Anything you learn serves as a basis of understanding for something. That's what my dad always says."

"I really would like to meet your parents," Hermione mused as they passed an especially ugly tapestry of a knight teaching trolls to dance.

Harry paused to snap a photo as one of the trolls waved a club threateningly at the knight when he wasn't looking.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Maybe you will, someday."

He wound the film and twitched as Neville tapped him on the shoulder. Hermione had gone still at his side. Neville began tugging on his sleeve until he turned to stare at a previously hidden door.

Harry crept forward and put his cheek to the wood.

"Any ideas?" he asked as he tapped on it gingerly.

It was definitely a door, with a whole room behind it, judging from the sound. Harry licked the smooth, worn surface.

"Ew!" Hermione complained.

"It's really _old_. And really magical," he muttered as he put a hand on the knob. "More magical than Ollivander's shop."

"We should probably leave it alone," Neville fearfully advised.

Hermione shook her head.

"There are loads of hidden doors in Hogwarts. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_, and last night the prefects took us into the kitchens through a hidden door for some hot cocoa," she gushed. "They told us we're always be safe inside the castle because the castle's elven staff have ways of keeping tabs on us."

"Really?"

Harry wasn't paying much attention anymore, and so barely registered the conversation behind him. He had opened the door just a smidge to peek around the corner. His fingers went slack, and it swung all the way open.

To his amazement, he found the interior of his tree house, but flipped as if he were looking at it in a mirror. A high definition screen took up the majority of the wall facing him, and beanbag chairs lined the walls around a scruffy old shag carpet of swirled orange, gold, and beige. Dials, knobs, buttons and bobs on control panels interspersed the room.

He felt Hermione and Neville enter behind him, and the door swung shut.

"Where are we?" Neville asked anxiously.

"It looks Wizless-ish," Hermione eloquently observed. "Are those branches out there?"

She crossed to the window and gasped.

"We're in a _tree house_."

"It's not just any tree house," Harry corrected. "It's _my_ tree house. But how's that possible?"

But before Harry could think further than that, the huge screen flipped on and Harry found himself looking at –

"Dad!" he nearly shouted.

The man on the screen turned as if he could hear Harry as he came into focus: Bushy dark eyebrows, windswept hair, high cheekbones and intense, deep-set brown eyes.

"Harry?" the man asked, his voice a little high-pitched in his surprise.

"Dad!" Harry said again. "How are you doing that?"

The image flashed blue as the sonic hummed its signature tune. The Doctor's eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline.

"I don't know. I really don't," he laughed. "Did _you_ do something?"

"No, I… We-" he gestured to Neville and Hermione, "Were exploring, and I was snapping a photo of the tapestry across he corridor and then this door appeared."

"What were you talking about? Did you activate a password?"

"I don't know. Hermione said she'd like to meet you, and I was just thinking how I wish Jenny could see, too, and then this door-"

"Check for a telepathic field," the Doctor interrupted. "You wanted home and it looks like it gave you the tree house plus comms."

Harry stuck out his tongue, to the amazement and utter confusion of his friends. Then he screwed up his face and closed his eyes for several minutes in which Hermione and Neville talked to a man on a television they had never met before.

"So," the Doctor said, "Hermione, I remember you from the booksellers. So that just leaves..?"

"Neville Longbottom, Sir," Neville said quickly. "Harry and I met on the train."

"And how are you enjoying school so far, Neville and Hermione?"

They exchanged a look and apparently decided to accept the absurdity of the situation. It _was_ a magical castle, after all.

"It's wonderful. We don't start until tomorrow, so we were just trying to explore and find where all our classes are, like Harry said," Hermione rushed. "Everywhere we go there's something new and amazing. And I got into Hufflepuff house, which I didn't really expect, but-"

"You must be a very hard worker," the Doctor complimented. "And staunchly loyal to your friends, since you didn't abandon Harry when he came out all snakelike."

Hermione would have been offended if the Doctor didn't have such a charming smile. She blushed. The Doctor grinned.

"And you, Neville?"

"I made Gryffindor, though I didn't think I would. I didn't know if I was a real wizard or not, really, until my uncle Algie dropped me out a window when I was eight. I bounced all the way from the garden to the lane."

Hermione's face went from excited to horrified in an instant.

"That wasn't very sporting of him," the Doctor said lightly. "He could have really hurt you."

Neville shrugged, and his shoulders hiked toward his ears as his chin dipped toward his chest.

"That's the first time he got it right, though. He pushed me off a pier once trying to scare the magic out of me," he mumbled. "But anyhow, that's how they figured out I was a wizard. My gran'll be very pleased when she hears I made the Gryffs. She was so proud I got my acceptance letter that she even gave me my dad's wand to use."

The Doctor smiled at him gently.

"And so my lonely boy finds himself two other lonely children to be friends with," he said affectionately.

The children smiled, both a smidge embarrassed despite their pleasure at his gentle encouragement and praise.

"You'll have to tell me about all your marvellous adventures."

Hermione grinned.

"But where are my manners? I'm the Doctor. Harry's dad."

Harry came around then, with a huge grin on his face.

"Definitely telepathic, but it's not just the room, I don't think," he interjected. "It feels bigger. It feels like…"

Harry searched for the words and couldn't find them, so he simply smiled and sat down in one of the plush beanbags.

"You'll have to experiment to see if you can conjure up the room again. It sounds a lot like what the TARDIS would do anytime I remodelled," the Doctor offered. "Oh, and Mum's at Torchwood this week, so I've got the home front and Jenny, so you should be able to reach me here if you manage it again."

"Where _is_ Jenny?" Harry asked, looking around the Doctor's oversized face at the rest of the reflected tree house.

"In her room, I expect. She's still moping because you couldn't put her in your trunk." The Doctor paused, and his eyebrows drew together. "I won't tell her about this until we've had a few more successful trials. It'd be smashing to be able to see and talk to you regularly, but until we can be sure-"

"Yeah, I don't want to build her hopes up," Harry agreed.

They looked at each other a long moment.

"Well, you should probably get on with it. Go, explore. Write me later."

"Okay," Harry said quietly. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you, too, Jemmy."

The three left quickly after that, all pointedly ignoring Harry's flaming ears and face.

"Maybe it's a wish-granting room," Hermione wondered aloud as they continued down the seventh floor corridor.

"Whatever it is, it's brilliant," Neville grinned. "I wonder if we could make it do that for all our houses? Like a bigger, better floo."

"What's a floo?" Hermione asked.

"Wizard transportation," Harry said absently as he snapped another photo of a ghost. "Drop some floo powder into your fireplace and you can zip off to your destination by saying an address so long as you're on the network. It's a space-time manipulation connected to pass codes and magical coolant."

Neville blinked. Hermione laughed.

"Sometimes, you speak like you swallowed a collegiate physics text."

"My dad's also a physicist, didn't I say?"

Hermione shook her head and sighed.

They kept walking, making notes, and snapping photos until they reached the ground floor of the castle, where lunch had already commenced. Tired, famished, and with sore feet and chests (in Neville and Hermione's cases), they trudged into the great hall and plopped down at the nearest table.

Harry reached for a steaming loaf of dark grained bread, fully intent on stuffing it with thick slices of rosemary-glazed pork for an oversized sandwich. He found some fried tomato slices and salad further down the table, which he also pushed into the bread until it practically overflowed with delicious fillings.

"How are you going to get your mouth around that?" Hermione asked with a hint of begrudging amusement in her voice.

"Not sure, but I'm going to try," Harry answered.

And he did in the way only growing almost-teenaged boys can. Neville tried not to laugh as Harry attacked the sandwich and eventually resorted to forking bits of meat into his mouth between bites of bread, cheese and veg.

After they had stuffed themselves with more pumpkin juice and food than their bellies were used to, Harry, Neville and Hermione mutually agreed their exploration should continue after a well-deserved kip. Neville went up the staircase again to the Gryffindor tower while Harry and Hermione started winding their way downstairs.

"Thanks for joining us," Hermione said after a short while. "I have a feeling you were nearly done doing your own mapping when you found us."

"Yeah, I had already done it from one direction and I was starting on the other, but I enjoyed it anyway," Harry shrugged.

"I had fun. Maybe we can find an empty classroom tomorrow and work on our homework together," she suggested.

"Yeah," he agreed. "And let's have lunch again. I don't think I have any classes with Hufflepuff until Tuesday."

They paused at the archway that led to the dungeons and lowest levels of the castle. The portraits had become fewer, and most seemed to contain still-life portrayals of fruit or rotting things.

"See you later this afternoon?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"'Course. I'll meet you and Neville in the entrance hall. Say, four o'clock?"

"All right. See you then."

Harry gave Hermione a jaunty wave before she turned back up the hall and he spun to follow the elusive trail to the Slytherin common room.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as simple as it had seemed last night, when he had the added benefit of adrenalin and excitement in his system. He found his way to the potions corridor well enough, but once he crossed under the archway into the Slytherin Labyrinth, as he had begun to call it, he could make neither hide nor hair of which way to go.

He even tried closing his eyes and reaching for the directions in his mind, but he could not grasp the illusive tickle just on the fringes of his consciousness.

"Potter," a deep voice thrummed. "What are you doing?"

Harry's eyes snapped open to meet the gaze of his head of house and potions master. He clicked his heels together in an automatic show of attention.

"Professor…"

Why did his tongue suddenly feel like cotton wool?

"I, erm-"

"Spit it out, Mr Potter."

Harry shook his head as if to shake off an annoying insect.

"Sorry, professor," he began again. "I was trying to make my way back to the common room for a kip. Prefect Higgs said we could find it with our magical sense, and I thought I could do that, but it's, well-"

Harry shrugged.

"I can _feel_ it, but it feels like it's coming from everywhere all at once."

The severe potions master searched Harry's face. Harry felt the light brush of telepathy against his mental walls and lowered them willingly to show the professor what me meant. But, as soon as the probe touched Harry's sense of awareness, the head of house's face went slack.

"Mr Potter," he finally managed. "Did anyone ever tell you I was once friends with your mother?"

Harry blinked. That was definitely not what he expected.

"No, sir. Actually, aside from what I've read in books and one letter, I don't know anything about my mother."

Harry looked into Professor Snape's face again, but it had already reverted to the cool mask it wore before.

"I shall show you back to your dormitories. I think tomorrow you would be wise to report to my office after dinner so we may work on honing your frankly ridiculous sensitivity to magical energies," he instructed.

"If you are an exceptionally good student," he continued more softly, "As your mother was, then perhaps I will have the time to tell you a little about her, as well."

The professor led Harry back to the dormitories, all the while making comments on what he should be looking for with his magical sense. Harry almost had the knack of it when they finally reached the hidden door.

"Thank you, professor."

"You are a Slytherin, Mr Potter," Snape answered with a cocked brow. "Thanks are not necessary so long as you remain in my house and do nothing to prove yourself undeserving."

The words lingered with Harry as he descended the stairs to the first year boys' dormitory. Nott lay in the shared den with his legs propped up on a pouf and a book on his face, apparently fast asleep. Harry yawned.

Kip first, then he'd get back to unravelling the castle's mysteries.

* * *

**3 September 2012**

Harry frowned down at his timetable and carefully copied each class and location into the handsome leather-bound planner his Grandma Jackie had gifted him. He penned in everything from meal times and feast-day schedules to mid-term and final exams. He'd have an older student show him how to make a copy for his mum and dad, later. If they could make the secret room work again, there was a chance he would be taking several of his free periods to catch up with his far-away family. He took another bite of bacon sandwich and snapped the book shut.

Something brushed against Harry's sleeve and he looked up to find the breakfast table occupied by several more occupants than he last remembered.

"So, Potter," Malfoy said as he took the seat beside him and poured himself some juice. "How are you enjoying wizarding life?"

Malfoy's face portrayed nothing but polite interest. Harry shrugged.

"Well enough, if you mean being at Hogwarts. It's really not as exciting as home, just yet. It was magical there, too."

The boy rolled his eyes.

"You don't have to lie, Potter. Tell us, really. How awful were those muggle relatives of yours?"

Harry felt his patience quickly dwindling, but gamely glued a smile to his face.

"Really, Malfoy, I never met my so-called relatives," he said. "My mum and dad are wonderful. They taught me about my magic as soon as I started showing it and even took me on excursions to help with _their_ magical projects."

It wasn't a lie, really, just a cultural translation.

"What I want to know," Harry teased, "Is why are you so interested? I never took you for a _Harry Potter and the Vampires of Vasili_ fan."

Malfoy's cheeks burned scarlet at the reference to the raunchiest book of those he'd read about his supposed adventures, and giggles swept the table.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you had a crush. Not that I'd mind. I really don't know what way I lean, yet," Harry continued as if he hadn't noticed the reactions. "But I do find your assumptions and line of questioning a tad on the personal side."

A few people had worked themselves into full-on laughter this point. Malfoy wisely shut his mouth and fled the table as soon as he'd finished his hardboiled egg and glass of juice.

"Excellent manoeuvring," Daphne Greengrass complimented, sliding into his vacated spot. "You've no idea how wonderful it feels to watch someone match him and get away with it."

The quarter-hour bells began tolling and Harry rose along with the majority of his house.

"Why can't people get away with it?" he asked as he fell in behind some of the other first-year Slytherins.

Daphne raised one manicured hand in a more elegant version of an isn't-it-obvious gesture rather than rolling her eyes like a peasant, for example. Harry tried not to smile.

"He's a _Malfoy_," she stated.

"The way you say it, I guess being a Malfoy comes with lots of money and political influence, right?"

The statuesque blonde sniffed rather than answer aloud.

"And I suppose Malfoy senior's bribed, bought and wriggled his way to the top of the pureblood food chain," Harry further asserted.

Daphne's face went absolutely blank, as if someone had flicked a switch somewhere on a Daphne remote. Harry wondered whether such switches existed and if he could have one for his face. He bluffed about as well as his mother; which was poorly at the best of times.

"And I'm a match for Draco because I'm famous enough to get away with it."

Greengrass smirked at him.

"A fair enough assumption," she said lightly. "Whether you're right or not remains to be seen. Still, you make excellent mealtime entertainment."

She disappeared among a gaggle of Slytherin girls as they turned the corner, leaving Harry adrift behind the rest of the first year snakes just ahead of the Gryffindors coming up the corridor.

"Excuse me, sorry-"

Harry glanced over his shoulder at the familiar voice as Neville struggled to get past some of the other first year Lions without pushing.

"Hi, Nev!" Harry called over the heads separating him from his friend.

Neville waved back as he squeezed between the wall and a group of girls, who giggled at his blushing efforts.

"Hi, Harry!"

He finally stumbled forward, pink-faced and a little out of breath, to walk beside him while the group wound its way to the dungeons.

"Did you hear back from your gran?" Harry asked as soon as it looked like Neville could manage talking.

"Yeah. She's even more pleased than I thought she would be. She said she's going to send me a rememberall in the post."

"That's lovely," Harry smiled. "So, think you're ready for potions?"

Neville face took on a strange pallor.

"Not even a little. I've heard lots of horrible things about the professor."

Harry chewed on that a little.

"I don't know what you've heard, but given enough negative motivation, anyone can become a bully. He's been really decent to me so far, but…"

Harry trailed off at Neville's decidedly frightened and doubtful expression.

"You know what, Neville?" Harry began again. "I know you'll be fine."

Neville worried the sleeves of his robe.

"How do you know?"

"Because everyone expected me to be a Gryffindor, but I wasn't brave enough for that."

"Harry-"

"No, hear me out," he insisted. "I could have been in any of the other houses, but the Hat didn't put me there. I wasn't loyal or hardworking enough for Hufflepuff, or clever enough for Ravenclaw, and I wasn't anywhere near brave enough to be a Gryffindor lion. _You_ were. So even if you don't believe in yourself, _Hogwarts_ does. _The founders_ – because you know as well as I do they enchanted the Hat – believe in you. Even now you're practically shaking at the thought of this professor, but you're not skiving off. What's that tell you?"

Neville stopped twisting his sleeves and looked at his friend a little unsurely. When Harry glanced at him again, he stood a little straighter, anyway. When the classroom door swung quietly open, the flood of their fellow housemates swept them apart as they very conspicuously split the room between the Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Potions Lab 1, thus designated for its beginner's set-up, kept the feel of a dungeon despite the rows of long, granite-topped tables, washing areas, ingredients cabinets and wooden stool seating. Perhaps it was glass and crystal jars full of floating bits of dead animal and plant matter. Or maybe it was the flickering torches and metal chandeliers filled with ever-burning candles. It could have been the chains hanging from the ceiling, all of which sported wicked looking hooks or at the end.

Those, Harry was pretty certain, probably served the purpose of suspending potions a little higher over the flames than a stand could manage. He could, however, imagine the tortured cries of an unfortunate victim as they hung from the ominously sharp tools. However, considering the way Professor Snape swept into the room, all black robes and cross-me-and-die-via-boiling-in-acid facial expression, he was betting on the local authority as to the root of the dungeon-y atmosphere.

Severus Snape never raised his voice higher than a deep, rumbling whisper, but it seemed to carry the threat of a dragon's wrath, so when he entered and began his lecture, the room fell into immediate silence and began taking notes.

Harry rather thought his dad probably gave off a similar aura to those that angered him. His mum always seemed to describe him in a similar fashion.

"Longbottom," the Professor drawled, pausing in his roll call for the Gryffindors. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Neville's face paled and his eyes went wide. Snape sneered and turned back to his list.

"Hm. Clearly, I have my work cut out for me with this year's batch of-"

"Sorry, P-Professor," Neville managed. "It'd be an impure version of the draught of sleeping death, I think, based on the ingredients' reactive properties."

The professor raised a dark eyebrow and pursed his lips.

"Hm. Did a Gryffindor actually manage to find his text before the start of term?"

Some of the other Slytherins snickered. Neville looked about nervously but didn't shrink back, and Harry smiled encouragingly at the back of his head.

"Let's see if your luck will hold, shall we? Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Neville didn't hesitate again. His face regained a little colour.

"They're formed in a goat's digestive system, Sir," he said at once.

"That would have been impressive, had you not failed to mention what they do," Snape sneered. "A point for your incomplete answer."

Nott, Malfoy, Goyle, Crabbe, Bulstrode and Parkinson laughed.

Harry rolled his eyes. It was rather a weak win, if one could call it that.

"Anyone else?" the potions master continued.

Malfoy raised his hand, along with Patil and Thomas in Gryffindor.

And so the class continued. They received a detailed safety lecture to which Harry paid close attention, and an introduction to the proper use and care of their instruments in addition to a brief run-through of courteous and efficient lab operations. Afterward, they began brewing a boil-curing potion.

As unfair as Snape was to Neville, Harry found the professor could be even worse to Gryffindors as a whole. As far as he was concerned, the Slytherins could do no wrong.

A failure to chop that ingredient evenly enough? Two points from Gryffindor.

Attempt to help a fellow classmate and prevent a cauldron meltdown (which Neville was caught doing half-way through the brewing section)? Ten points for cheating.

On the other hand, Crabbe, who had paired with Nott, _did_ manage to melt his cauldron into a twisted pewter blob, and subsequently cause the injury of a quarter of the Slytherins and several Gryffindors, still somehow _gained_ points for providing Snape with a teaching point.

Frankly, Harry became more and more confused as the lesson progressed. How could one man be so vastly different from the concerned, if not strict, head of house Harry encountered just one corridor away the evening before?

But, as it was time for lunch, and Harry and Neville had agreed to meet Hermione before their second period, Harry didn't have much time to ponder that problem.

"Good job in there," Harry said as he and Neville climbed the stairs ahead of their respective housemates.

"I don't think he expected me to know anything," Neville half-laughed.

His hands shook around the straps of his bag.

"I'm glad Gran got me those tutors when I was a kid."

"That's fantastic. What were you tutored in?"

"Herbology and magical theory mostly, with a bit of potion brewing thrown in," he offered. "She figured if I didn't turn out any good at _casting_ magic, I could still do something with the physical stuff."

Harry grinned.

"Well, there you go, then. No matter what, you'll be brilliant at something. I still have to figure out if I'm talented in _anything_."

The Gryffindor boy looked at him strangely but didn't comment on his self-deprecating remark.

…

Neville, Hermione and Harry spent lunch comparing their morning lessons, with side commentary provided by whoever sat nearest, which was an impressive feat by those involved, considering _none_ of the Gryffindors aside from Neville wanted to be anywhere near them. Hermione went off a bit of a rant when Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan described Professor Snape's unfairness.

Harry declined participating in that conversation, as he hadn't made his mind up about that particular professor, yet, and remembered clearly the rules given to them after the welcome feast.

After venting that particular frustration, the conversation turned to the lessons themselves aside from the professors who taught them. Neville, especially, could not wait for his first Herbology lesson, which Slytherin and Gryffindor shared during third period. Hermione, on the other hand, felt intensely disappointed she would not have her first Magical Theory lesson, which the boys had scheduled directly after lunch, until the following afternoon. They parted with another promise to continue investigating the mysterious room on the seventh floor on the weekend, and Harry and Neville went off to Greenhouse 1 together, fully on their way to becoming better friends than Harry could ever remember being with anyone aside from his sister in the non-magical realm.

* * *

**After Dinner, 3 September 2012**

Harry stared at the very old, very forbidding-looking wooden door before him, debating if it was too early for him to have arrived for his meeting. There was no doorknob or handle to speak of: simply a polished silver plaque reading _Professor S. Snape _tacked to the door's time-smoothed surface. Just as he raised his fist to knock, Harry heard Professor Snape's voice as clearly as if he had been standing beside him.

"Enter."

The door swung open with a loud creak to admit the thin, black-haired boy with a green eyes and a horrid cowlick.

Severus Snape sat behind his desk with his hands folded on its surface. Harry recognized the signs of a controlling, bordering on obsessive, individual. Two books sat meticulously squared up against the right hand corner of the desktop nearest to the door. One especially handsome eagle-feather quill stood at the ready in a stand, beside a perfectly even line of different coloured inkpots. The bookshelves and glass-fronted cabinets lining the walls displayed tomes and ingredients arranged both by alphabetically and topic, and the back wall, which miraculously held a window – Harry rejoiced again in the wonders of magic – looking out onto the Black Lake.

The lighting, however, seemed a little off. Based upon their position and the time of day, the room should have been flooded with sunlight, yet the window only let in enough to fill the room with a diffuse, yellow light.

"Sir," Harry began, unable to help his curiosity. "How are we not blinded by the sunset right now?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn't reprimand him for the question.

"All the windows in Hogwarts, authentic or otherwise, are enchanted glare-free and brightness controlled. Any professor can adjust the appearance of natural lighting so long as it is filtered through the castle's wards."

Harry grinned at that. He had so much to write about in his first proper letter home.

"Now," Snape drawled. "Please sit."

The boy sat in front of the professor's desk and pulled out an ordinary, narrow-ruled notepad and pen to patiently await his professor's instruction.

"Yesterday afternoon," he began again, "You consciously allowed me entry into your thoughts. Why?"

Harry frowned and tried not to look too surprised. It definitely wasn't the question he expected.

"I could feel you looking for entry, and I wanted you to understand what I was thinking, so I dropped my walls," he explained, watching for his professor's reaction. "Should I not have?"

If Snape felt anything other than politely mild interest, his face didn't show it. Harry wanted to know whether he could learn to paralyse some of the minor muscles in his face to keep from giving _his_ thoughts away. Apparently, _everyone_ in Slytherin had an impressive poker face.

"Based on what little knowledge the wizarding world has of you, you should not be aware of the mind arts at all. Truly," Professor Snape continued in clipped tones, "I find it difficult to believe the son of James Potter could manage so much as picking up a book on the subject, so despite my best intentions, you've piqued my interest."

Harry digested that for a moment as he searched the professor's dark, cool gaze.

"If I _hadn't_ piqued your interest, sir," he finally hedged. "Would you have treated me differently than you have so far?"

Severus Snape's severe mouth curled into a decidedly cruel smile.

"You have no idea the lengths to which I'd have gone to see you excluded from my house."

Harry bit the inside of his mouth to prevent the shudder he felt building at the top of his spine. He forced a smile.

"Thank you, professor, for allowing me the chance to be interesting, then. I hope I prove worthy of your _continued_ interest."

Snape chuckled.

"Indeed."

The room seemed to warm several degrees, and Harry felt himself relaxing that much more. The professor, too, seemed to undergo a small transformation in the set of his shoulders and face. He still looked strict and forbidding, but no more so than the average intimidating, dungeon-dwelling professor as opposed to the possible mass murderer he so convincingly portrayed.

"I shall let you know, Mr Potter," the professor said, enunciating the 'P' with a moue of distaste. "I take a risk to meet you like this. If you are as interesting as I think you to be, you're already aware the sort of attention these dunderheads pay you."

Harry grinned.

"Yes, sir. A lot of people are really invested in what happens to me. I personally suspect a certain mad genius as the source of it all."

The professor's smirk twitched and his eyes narrowed.

"If you refer to the headmaster, I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

Harry nodded slightly in thanks for the subtle acknowledgement. _Point to Mum, _he dad would be deeply disappointed.

"However," Snape continued, "it is true many powerful people will seek to control you, whether through manipulation, seemingly well-intentioned guidance, or other such mechanisations. As such, your apparent talent with the mind arts should help you."

Snape's dark eyes bored into Harry's as he leaned over the desk.

"Bearing that in mind, do not, under any circumstances, allow _anyone_ entrance into your thoughts again," he said in an urgent hush.

The boy squirmed.

"I'll follow your advice, sir, but could you tell me why I shouldn't?"

"Because, Potter, not all wizards seek to simply read your thoughts," he obliged in low, sibilant tones. "If I, or any skilled Legilimens so wished it, you could find yourself locked in a state of agony so deep that you would never wake. There are some so talented as to have the ability to launch such an attack without your realising it at all. Therefore, you would be _most_ prudent to strengthen your passive defenses and leave them raised at _all times._"

Harry gripped the knees of his trousers and swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

"Are we clear?"

Harry found his voice, but it came out higher than he would have preferred.

"As crystal, professor."

Snape relaxed again into the velvet upholstery of his chair.

"As I indicated yesterday, I find myself inclined to assist you with your apparent talents beyond the giving of advice," he drawled. "You are possessed of an uncommon sensitivity to the magic around you, ambient and otherwise."

"I wasn't always, sir," Harry explained "But my dad helped me learn how to recognize it."

The potions master raised a dark eyebrow.

"And did your… Dad teach you to tell the difference between auras, signatures, energies and ambience in magic?"

Harry screwed up his face a little.

"I never managed it practically, Sir," he said slowly. "I've read the differences in theory texts, but I've never had the opportunity to compare, really. Before this summer we kind of kept it close to home."

"You should attempt to learn these differences on a practical level as soon as possible," the professor suggested. "You can find these connections by meditating as you encounter these fields. Build awareness of to what or to whom each signature belongs. When you enter and leave a room in Hogwarts, test the energies at the room's threshold to find the room's signature. It will be more complex than that of any singular wizard or witch, but, if you are diligent, you should be able to pick apart these subtleties."

Harry's pen flew across his notepad as the professor spoke, and did not stop for several moments.

"Do all wizards and witches sense magic, Sir?" Harry finally asked.

"Yes," Professor Snape murmured. "But hardly any can tell what they're feeling aside from vague awareness. The phrase 'there's magic in the air' has become rather prevalent as the art's faded through time."

Harry blinked.

"Then how does anyone find the Slytherin common room?"

The set of Snape's mouth and nose took on a bit of sourness.

"Its enchantments were altered in the early 1500s to actively seek nearby students if any crossed beneath the archway leading off the potions corridor," he admitted in clipped tones.

The disgust in his voice was evident even if it remained mostly absent from his face.

"So…" Harry began slowly, but sat a little straighter and looked Snape in the eye as he drew his conclusions. "You helped me last night even though you didn't really need to. This conversation is entirely for my personal benefit, over and beyond your duty as a professor."

The green-eyed boy searched Snape's face. The man gazed back as the shared stare stretched into a minute without a word from either.

"Thank you," the boy finally offered. "I hadn't met any adult wizards who've gone out of their way to help me, before you."

The professor's mouth puckered and his head inclined slightly as his observation of the first-year continued into another awkward silence. Harry patiently waited through it until the man decided on his next words.

"Your mother was a dear friend," he finally murmured, stony-faced. "And you seem to have inherited many of her gifts. I do not know if I particularly like _you_, Potter, but born as you were under those circumstances, who am I to deny you help?"

Harry smiled hesitantly.

"Again, thank you, Professor," he reiterated as he rose from his seat at the implied dismissal.

He paused at the doorway, casting a curious look over his shoulder at the dour educator.

"Oh, and you don't have to call me 'Potter' if you don't want to. I can tell it makes it harder on you. I prefer 'Tyler', anyway."

The door closed behind him, and Severus Snape slumped slightly against his straight-backed chair as he pondered the child he observed and compared him to the one he had built up in his imagination.


	7. Stupid and Lucky

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: A reviewer recently posed a question relating to the population of wizarding UK. If anyone's interested, I've left an extra note at the end of chapter five. Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I always read them and take encouragement from them. I love you all.

* * *

Chapter Seven: Stupid and Lucky

* * *

_5 September 2012_

_Dear Harry,_

_Since the appearance of that rather unexpected programming Sunday evening, I've rigged a couple devices to my screen which should, assuming Magic is Time Energy manipulated to control an atom's state, allow me to measure and control the connection to an extent. Therefore, feel free to broadcast anytime you're free. I'll be able to see it from my mobile._

_Of course, I base that idea solely on our research before and since you left, so if I'm wrong and the whole lot explodes, I'll finally get the chance to build us a better tree house. You can help me, this time around, and maybe we can recreate a bit of the TARDIS's lost charm. Bigger on the inside, indeed!_

_Speaking of which, I've worked my way through most of these tests and have _quite_ the discovery to show you when you come home for the holidays._

_Thank you for sending those photographs and your timetable. Jenny was very pleased to see you're doing well, even if she misses you. Who knows? If the spark of 'Magic' lives Time Lord DNA, perhaps she'll come out not not-human, too. She's still young, and I'm still picking up odd readings around the house, but it could just be residue from you being here for so many years. It's hard to distinguish as of yet. _

_I'm very disappointed to hear your latest news relating to our greatest concern. I was rather hoping the Many-Titled Meddler was attempting to act in your best interests, but after your description of your conversation with He-Who-Flaps-A-Lot, I have to agree with your mum. Be careful around that one. _

_I've finally got The Whole gang in Cardiff, including your Uncle, working on a bit of a family reunion. Everyone is most interested in combing through the last decade of CCTV for snippets of home video gold. We're also conducting several studies together on my newly expanded understanding of space-time. _

_On another note, have you made any friends in the snake pit? Hermione and Neville seem great, but your mum and I would rest better knowing you've got someone watching your back closer to where you're sleeping. Jen, too. _

_Also, we have a new kitten. Your sister named him Sir Wibbles. He's the orange creature in the attached photo. Roughly nine months old. I think he's a kneazle, or part kneazle, because he speaks more clearly than the average house cat. Also he's very serious for a kitten. Your mum adores him. Jenny wants to send him to look after you at school. I vetoed, since I'm not sure how Hedwig would like him._

_Be good. Mum says to check your trunk for rations. She said Jenny snuck a second birthday cake, her favourite tea service, and lot of other goodies in there when she thought no one was looking._

_Love you. Keep the rules in mind, and keep us posted._

_-Dad_

_P.S._

_I still want my souvenir. Daddy helped me spell that. _

_Send me an ugly old lake rock if you have to. _

_Love,_

_Jenny _

* * *

**6 September 2015**

Harry reached to scratch under Headwig's beak as he finished reading his letter. He rolled to put it in the drawer of his nightstand with the two others that had arrived since Saturday and spello-taped the picture of his sister holding the new cat, a very grumpy looking creature with orange fur and a squashed face, to his headboard. Hedwig made a low hoot.

"Yeah, I know," Harry murmured. "I'm usually at breakfast by now and you definitely deserve bacon, but I was up till two breaking my neck to stare at stars I can map in the sleep I was so rudely deprived of."

He felt Astronomy was a complete waste of time, considering his upbringing. Although the theoretical stuff relating the celestial bodies to magical theory _did_ interest him, it wasn't anything that required night studying to learn. Also, Scotland was _cold_ at night, even this early in September. It made him wonder whether the professors remembered they regularly dined beneath a projection of the sky outside, or if they were being purposefully obtuse.

The boy rolled sideways to hang halfway off his bed as he wrestled his trunk to a vertical, standing position. He touched one of the locks, and the lid sprang open like a cupboard door. Lights went on inside, and Harry glared at the personal study as if it had offended him.

"What will it be, Hed? Desiccated meat sound all right?"

The bird chirruped appreciatively, and Harry stuck out his hand as he screwed up his face. A moment later, a sealed package flew into his fingers with a soft _whap._ Harry snapped the trunk shut again and ripped the plastic open to reward his owl with one of the dehydrated strips of squid.

"Huh. I was expecting beef jerkey," he mused. "I guess we had some stuff from the Asian market left over."

He took a bite for himself and shrugged. It was slightly salted, and a little sweet.

Hedwig continued ripping strips of the snack with her beak and gobbling them down with the occasional happy bird-of-prey cackle.

Harry munched along with her as he absently stroked her soft feathers.

"Is flying incredible, Hedwig? I get to learn today."

Shred. Rip. Swallow. Cackle-coo. Harry finished his nibbles, got out of bed, and started to dress.

* * *

Harry's second Charms and Herbology lessons dragged on, even though he and Hermione enjoyed applying the previously learned _Incendio_ spell from the former class's previous session to combat the newly introduced Spiky Bush (an apparently common magical weed that shot spikes at passerby for no good reason while it slowly strangled one's potions ingredients and begonias) in the latter.

By the end of the class, Hermione and Harry both could produce a steady stream of fire, but Harry's burnt more whitish-yellow while Hermione's flames remained stubbornly orange-red.

"How do you make it burn hotter?" she demanded as they directed their flames at the bushes threatening the groundskeeper's unnaturally sized pumpkin crop.

Harry shrugged and willed his fire into a lasso to encircle and char a particularly stubborn Spiky Bush as it tried, in vain, to propel its needles further than it could sensibly fling them. Professor Sprout gave a delighted shout and awarded him ten points for the display.

"I'm impatient," he grunted as another scraggly foe met its end beneath the might of his wand and will. "I told it _hotter,_ and so it is."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," the Hufflepuff protested. "It's magic, but I don't think it has sentience enough to _understand_ anything."

Rather than allow Hermione to be too putout, he suggested a friendly competition to see who could hit the bushes from furthest away. The competition grew to include several other Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, but Hermione won out by the end of it. When she stopped thinking about it too hard, she could hurl her fireballs from over twenty-five yards and hit the bushes dead-on.

"My mum takes me to her shooting club twice a month," she said a little proudly when her housemates asked. "Clay pigeons are harder to hit than that. They're these little orange discs launched into the air, and we have to shoot them down mid-flight."

The wizless-raised children were rather impressed. Harry was, too, but had inherited his parents' aversion to firearms so said nothing aside from congratulating Hermione on her success.

Harry personally wondered at the wisdom in teaching eleven and twelve-year-olds how to shoot fire at will from what he quickly came to recognize as deadly weapons. Still, he couldn't complain much, since a small, but loud part of him seemed as enthused with pyromania as his classmates. He was fairly certain he could recreate the spell without his wand now that he knew what the magic felt like, too.

Charms, which directly followed Herbology, was less interesting without the fireballs from the previous session flying through the air, and therefore far more difficult to bear. Harry wished he had a time machine. The _lumos_, or torchlight charm, as Harry was wont to call it, did not compare to the excitement presented by the prospect of _flying_.

Finally, the bells tolled to signal the end of third period and the beginning of fourth. With a mad smile, Harry shot up, grabbed Neville's arm and dragged him out of his seat before most could even gather their books.

"Come on!" he crowed. "Flying lesson!"

Neville groaned but did his level best to keep pace with Harry as he rushed down the hall, across the courtyard, down a staircase, through the entrance hall and out into another courtyard, all while avoiding the other students simultaneously attempting to navigate the ground floor.

"I'm really not looking forward to it all that much," the Gryffindor warned.

"Don't worry," Harry reassured him. "I'm sure the professor will catch you if you fall, or has some sort of safety net in place."

Harry slowed once they left the west courtyard and followed the slope leading to the smooth plane of the west lawn below. The sky shined a lovely, pale blue above them, and the sun felt warm enough that Harry wished he could take off his outer robe and roll up his sleeves. A light breeze made the sweet smelling, long, dewy grass dance and sway in slow ripples ahead of them.

"So, what was that you got at breakfast this morning?" he asked after Neville regained his breath from keeping with his mad dash. "I almost came over when Malfoy started making a prick of himself, but then McGonagall got to you, so I figured everything was fine."

"Oh!"

Neville perked up a bit as he rummaged through one of the inner pockets in his robe. He withdrew a clear glass ball roughly the size of a large marble and held it up to the sun. White smoke swirled inside it mysteriously.

"It's a rememberall. The smoke turns red when you've forgotten something," he explained. "And don't worry about Malfoy. It's okay."

"No, it's not. I wish he'd grow up," Harry sighed. "We don't have to share a bedroom, but just being in the same dormitory as him drives me crazy, sometimes. He's a four-foot-and-five-inch plucked parrot."

Neville grinned as he put his gift away.

"So you don't all sleep in the same room?"

"No. Do you lot?" Harry asked as he plopped down on the grass beside one of the neatly arranged broomsticks. "What if someone snores especially loud?"

Neville groaned.

"Ron Weasley's okay when he's awake, at least most of the time," he admitted hesitantly, "But he snores like he's a great hairy beast in disguise."

Harry laughed.

"Ask a prefect to do a silencing spell on your curtains."

Neville's eyes widened in a comical expression of relief, as if Harry had told him a relative was on the mend from a horrible illness.

"See? This is why I need a Slytherin around," he said gratefully. "I would have gone on not sleeping for the rest of the year or stuffing my ears with cotton wool."

Harry patted Neville on the back, and they both got back to their feet as the rest of Slytherin and Gryffindor approached, led by a woman with closely shorn steel-grey hair and tawny eyes. Several of the Gryffindors gave Neville or Harry nasty looks when they got close. Neville's shoulders stiffened, but his eyes slid to stare somewhere between his shoes and the broom beside him.

"Mr Potter," a woman with closely shorn steel-grey hair commanded. "Please pick one of the brooms on the left side to start the Slytherin line for roll-call."

Harry obligingly changed positions after a quick, encouraging pat to Neville's back. The other Slytherins joined him, and Greengrass and Zabini settled at his sides. Malfoy bullied Nott away from the most gently used broom with Goyle and Crabbe at his flanks.

"Was Potter bothering you, Neville?" Harry heard Ron say as he took his place in the Gryffindor line. "You don't have to hang around with him just because he's rich and famous."

Harry rolled his eyes. Weasley's opinion of him had drastically degraded since his sorting.

Neville had begun to respond when Malfoy cut in.

"Why does it bother you who Potter employs as his pet, Weasley? Worried you're going to lose your squib sidekick?" he sneered. "Oh, wait, you haven't enough money for a sidekick, do you?"

Several of the Slytherins laughed along with him.

Harry shot Draco a cool glance while Weasley's face coloured an ugly red beneath the cinnamon-coloured freckles.

"Enough of that," Madam Hooch barked sharply. "You will remain civil in this class or you will be banned from flying for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts. There's no room in the sky for nonsense."

That shut them all up. Harry had to focus very hard not to grin. He liked this woman.

"What? Are we going to stare at the brooms all day or are we going to ride them?" she demanded after they all found their places. "Address your broom from the left side, stick out your right hand and say 'up.'"

"Up!"

Everyone shouted the word at once, and Harry's broom smacked willingly against his palm. For a relic with bent twigs and an age-worn handle, it practically vibrated beneath his fingers. His, however, was one of the few to respond so quickly.

Neville's had given a bit of a lazy wiggle, but hadn't risen an inch off the ground. Lavender Brown, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle's brooms refused to move at all. Only Daphne, Tracy, Draco, Ron, and Patil had managed this step on the first go.

Madam Hooch allowed the others to shout for a few moments longer before losing patience. Neville, Blaise, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Crabbe managed to call theirs to their hands just before the instructor blew her whistle.

"If you haven't called your broom to you by now, please sit out and watch until I give you further instructions. You aren't ready to fly, yet," she said not unkindly. "The rest of you, mount your brooms from the left. You should feel the cushioning charm under your rear, and the broom should feel as if it is supporting your weight independently. If you feel _you're_ holding the broom up, please raise your dominant or wand hand. The non-dominant or off hand is to remain on the broom at all times."

She then strode up and down the rows correcting their grips and helping them find their seats on the shoddy, but well-loved, school brooms until she felt the students commanded the stationary broomsticks to her satisfaction.

Harry took a little pleasure in watching as she corrected Malfoy's grip not once, but twice, since he had ignored her original instructions in favour of his own technique.

"No," she barked. "You hold it like that, and you'll break that wrist if you roll."

Weasley smirked at the sight of his red-faced nemesis's embarrassment.

Finally, the instructor deemed them ready. Madam Hooch held up one hand for their attention and lifted her whistle in the other.

"When I give my signal, you will kick off from the ground hard. Keep steady, rise a few feet, and come on back down by leaning down just slightly. Keep both hands on your broom at all times."

She sent the Gryffindors and Ron Weasley a pointed glare. No doubt his twin brothers had caused mayhem during their first lesson.

"On my whistle! One… Two…"

Neville, anxious as he was to prove himself alongside his fellow Gryffindors, shot off like a rocket, higher, and higher, and higher as Madam Hooch stared after him.

"Longbottom!" she screamed.

Harry watched in horror as his friend became a vague pinprick against the beautiful sky.

"Nev!" he shouted after him.

Malfoy and a few of his lot started laughing. Some of the Gryffindors began cheering. Harry felt sick. He saw it before Hooch did. Neville had begun to fall.

Before he could properly think about what he was doing, he kicked off hard, leaving a swearing Hooch and a screaming class behind him.

The mad beating of Harry's heart seemed to fade for a moment. The effects of gravity slid around him as if he dictated their pull rather than the other way around. Despite the terror of the situation, the very real danger as he soared up toward Neville's very quickly falling body, Harry had never felt more elated.

Flying was _easy_.

Flying was like nothing he had felt before. It felt better than any thrill ride and a million times more exhilarating.

Harry flattened himself against the shaft of the old school broom as he summoned his wand its holster with a thought.

It had been less than five seconds since he kicked off from the lawn. Neville's limp body loomed very close ahead. Harry couldn't afford to miss him.

"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" he bellowed, pointing his wand at his unconscious friend with a sharp swish and flick.

The spell hit him, Harry felt, but Neville was falling too fast for it to stop him. He only slowed by degrees, but it gave Harry time. He made a tight, neck-breaking turn that probably should have unseated him. The broom began to vibrate beneath him as he spun into a nosedive after Neville's still falling body. He pressed flat against the broom's handle.

"Come on, come on, you can do it," he hissed at it.

Five hundred feet.

Two hundred feet.

One hundred feet.

Harry was right on top of him, now. Below, he could see Madam Hooch desperately weaving some sort of magic below. He idly hoped it was a net, or a trampoline. The children screamed. Harry pushed the broom harder, and his legs clamped tightly around its shaft. He accelerated past terminal velocity. Finally, Harry was even with him. He spun in a vertical barrel roll and caught Neville hard around the waist before pulling the broom up to a jerky, shuddering stop.

The shouting below paused. Harry's hands shook as he clung to his friend, heavier than he imagined him to be, and they sunk slowly back to earth at the top of a hill nearby the breathless class. Harry lowered Neville gently to lie on the lawn, and he slid, trembling, off his broom to sit beside him. The grass felt wonderful and cool beneath his hands, and Harry realized he had been quite terrified for those last long seconds. He sniffed. Something smelled odd. He couldn't help the slightly hysterical laugh that burbled from his chest and performed a quick, wandless drying charm. Fortunately, no one had crested the hill and so didn't notice as steam rose from Neville's trousers.

A raucous cheer rose up from the Gryffindors, quickly joined by many of the Slytherins, when they crested the top of the hill to see them sprawled, alive and whole, on the ground. Harry rose shakily to his feet as Madam Hooch rushed over, followed by a clearly enraged Professor McGonagall.

"Never! Never in all my years-" she spluttered, the words heavily curled by her Scottish brogue.

"Potter, you could have killed yourself!" Madam Hooch shrieked.

Harry hung his head. He didn't regret what he did, but even he could admit it wasn't very smart. He hadn't even known he could fly before a few minutes ago.

"Did I not say to wait? What if you had dropped him?"

"I…" Harry looked down as Neville stirred and sat up, clearly confused. "Well," he tried not to smile. "I thought if I just slowed him down enough, maybe it would buy you time to catch him, and if you couldn't, I thought I stop him long enough that he'd bounce."

Everyone stared at him as if he had suddenly grown eight very hairy legs and a dozen rainbow-coloured eyes. Harry met Neville's gaze, and they both burst into laughter.

The Professors' faces, different expressions of obvious alarm, made them laugh even harder.

"Potter! Longbottom! Explain yourselves at once!" McGonagall finally ordered, levitating them both so they floated at eye level before her.

Neville managed to stop giggling and wiped his eyes.

"I- I-" he snorted. "I fell out of a fourth story window and bounced!"

"What?" Hooch goggled. "What?"

"He bounced all the way from the garden to the lane," Harry added breathlessly.

"Perhaps I should take them both up to Poppy, Min," Madam Hooch whispered. "I think they're hysterical."

McGonagall gave her a curt nod.

"A calming draught would do them some good, I think," she agreed before turning her steely gaze back on Harry. "I shan't be reporting this incident to your head of house, for now, Mr Potter, as it seems you made an honest attempt to assist your classmate. Obviously you know how to fly, so while your own risk may have been minimal, you might bear in mind the potential injury you could have caused young Mr Longbottom in your attempt to help, not to mention the added stress to those who would have controlled the situation faster without having to react to your stupidity."

Harry winced.

"Please leave the safety of your fellow students in the hands of your professors, next time. Ten points lost for your rashness."

The Slytherins groaned. Harry stopped smiling as he waited for the rest of his verdict.

McGonagall's mouth twitched.

"And twenty points for your selfless act of courage," she said a little more quietly, but not quite softly enough that the others didn't hear. "Your father would have done the same, no doubt."

Harry kept his head bowed, unwilling to seem proud when it seemed he was getting off the hook so easily.

"Now off you go," she said, ending her levitation charm. "Go ask Madam Pomfrey for a calming draught."

Harry and Neville nodded, gathered their bags, returned Harry's borrowed broom, and took off for the castle on still-trembling legs.

"How far did I fall?" Neville asked, leaning a little on Harry for support.

"Far enough that I had time to fly up and catch you, just barely."

"Thanks, Harry," the Gryffindor sniffled.

"Oi, none of that. It's okay," Harry said gently. "You're fine. Now you've got a great story to tell everyone. When people ask you why a dirty old Slytherin tried to save you, you can tell them I thought you'd bounce."

Neville laughed weakly.

"What's that smell?" he asked as they reached the stairs to the entrance hall.

"Don't worry about it, Nev. Just go up and change after you've been checked out."

Madam Pomfrey flew into a Grandma Jackie-worthy tizzy upon their arrival and explanation of "flying accident."

Neville, who had gone from hysteria to weak-kneed relief, sat docilely and accepted Madam Pomfrey's care. Harry, on the other hand, absolutely refused to remain in the hospital wing past the mandatory half-hour waiting period following his recommended dose of calming potion. The healer, however, felt he should wait another thirty minutes to an hour before rejoining his classmates, just to be sure.

"Please, Madam Pomfrey," he begged. "I'm absolutely fine. _I_ didn't even fall. I just caught Neville. Didn't fall. Not in shock. Not laughing like a maniac anymore."

"You will stay right there, or I shall I consult your head of house!"

Harry paled.

"On second thought, I'll stay. Can't hurt, can it?"

The woman pursed her lips.

"Of course it won't," she snapped. "Now lie down. I won't make you change so long as you rest."

Madam Pomfrey bustled off as Harry slid onto the bed beside Neville's. A kip sounded pretty good, actually, now that the adrenalin was leaving his system. He could now think about other things, like how angry Professor Snape would be when he found out, which he would from Malfoy if no one else. He was suddenly very glad professors generally didn't contact Wizless parents. He couldn't imagine how angry his mum would be if she found out, or Jenny. He shuddered.

She, especially, hated it when he did stupid things. She was awfully vengeful and frightening for a five-year-old.

"Harry," Neville murmured.

"Yeah, Nev?"

"Thank you. You probably saved my life."

"Don't mention it. We're friends."

Harry drifted off to sleep. He dreamed strange dreams. Someone wrapped him up in a blanket and buried him in garlic and oil. When he woke, he had a horrible headache and craved pizza like never before. He wondered if his dad would send him some.

"Mr Potter," a forbidding voice hummed. "Did you enjoy your afternoon nap?"

Harry sat up straight and ignored the resultant spots that swam before his eyes.

"Professor Snape, Sir," he said quickly. "I'm sorry, I meant to come to you sooner."

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape drawled in a dangerously light tone. "You've behaved most honourably this afternoon. I merely meant to ensure your wellbeing since you missed dinner."

Harry shuddered. Professor Snape was being _nice_ in _public_.

"I'm very sorry to have inconvenienced you, Professor." Harry apologized again.

The potions master waved a dismissive hand.

"How very fortunate you kept your wits about you in Mr Longbottom's moment of crisis. No doubt the _poor boy_ –"

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Every instinct urged him to run, for this man was very, very, very upset with him. He noticed Neville's breathing was too quiet for him to be truly sleeping, and hoped his friend had the sense to keep pretending.

"– Would have snapped his neck if not for your… Ah, _heroism_."

Harry attempted to school his features into the mask he'd witnessed on so many other Slytherins. He dropped his voice into a stage whisper.

"I thought it the best move to make, Professor Snape. How could I let the only scion of a long-sworn allied family fall to his death when I had the ability to help? It would have been a waste of good magical stock."

Madam Pomfrey sniffed rather loudly.

"If you're quite well, Mr Potter, you may leave," she clipped.

Harry nodded and stood along with his head of house.

"Thank you for your care, Madam Pomfrey," he said with a short bow.

The matron sniffed again.

"Stay out of trouble next time," the healer commanded.

Professor Snape held the door for Harry as he preceded him out into the corridor.

"Is that truly why you chose to act so rashly?" Snape growled as soon as the door swung shut once more.

Harry looked up at him for a long moment as they walked back toward the entrance hall.

"In a way, Sir, yes. He's my friend, but I chose to reach out to him because I knew our families were close once, according to the social columns I read dated before the war."

"Hmm."

The professor led the way down the dungeon stairwell, and Harry felt content to follow in silence until the educator chose to break it.

"You will, of course, face the judgment of your peers. As you miraculously avoided punishment at the hands of my Gryffindor counterpart…"

Snape sneered, and Harry knew this conversation would have gone very differently had he not.

"Well, I suppose I must take advantage of her tacit approval of your actions and recommend you as seeker to our house Quidditch team. Be warned, however: The expectation for your minimum academic average _will_ remain equal to that of your peers. Fail to perform in either duty, and you shall face my supreme displeasure. Is that understood?"

The professor spun on his heel to glare down at him.

"I, for one, _do not_ approve of your actions today, no matter the reason. They were rash and ill conceived. You risked the standing of your house, not to mention your stupid neck. Always remember, the status of Slytherin supersedes your own."

Harry nodded.

"Yes, professor. I won't forget."

"See that you do not."

They stared at one another for a while longer, half way between the potions labs and the archway leading to the Slytherin common room.

"Off with you. Call for a house elf in your room and one will provide you with sustenance."

Harry nodded, thanked professor Snape again, and rushed to his dormitory. As he expected, most of the first years and many of the upper years waited to ambush him, but he danced around their questions fairly easily by keeping a smirk on his face. It wasn't that hard, really. He'd defied death, made the quidditch team – He hadn't had any interest in before, but now that he'd _flown_, he'd take just about any excuse to get back in the air – and saved the life of a fellow student all while claiming the excuse of _politics_.

Harry raised his hands for quiet just outside the archway leading to the boys' dormitories.

"Why do you _think_ I did it?" he asked them all. "If you can't figure it out, maybe you're not as good at playing the game as you think."

_There, _he thought. That would leave them arguing about it for hours.

Harry turned and strolled down the stairs as if it were any other night, crossed through the first year study den, and shut his bedroom door behind him with a soft snap.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Hedwig, who had awaited his return before going out for her evening hunt, hooted at him once, swept over to nibble his hair, and swooped back up the air vent and out of sight.

"House elf?" he called experimentally.

A loud _pop!_ echoed off his eardrums and a small, toddler-sized being with very large, bat-like ears and bulbous, shining eyes curtsied at him. It wore a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest across its vaguely leathery body.

"Is young Master Potter needing something, sir?" it said in a very high, squeaky voice.

Harry blinked and unstuck his jaw.

"Hello. Yes, please. Can I ask what your name is?"

The little house elf curtsied again.

"I is being Cuddie, young Master Potter."

Harry smiled and gently offered her his hand to shake. Cuddie's already large eyes widened and glistened strangely as she took one of Harry's fingers in her tiny hand.

"Please call me Harry. Professor Snape told me you could help me with a late tea if it isn't too much trouble," he elaborated. "You see, I missed dinner."

"Oh!" Cuddie squealed. "Cuddie would be very glad to fetch Master Harry his supper. What would Master Harry like?

Harry sighed at the honorific and sat back on the edge of his bed.

"You wouldn't happen to have any stew in the stashed in a cold cupboard, would you?"

The little elf lit up like Christmas.

"Oh, yes, yes, Master Harry!" she enthused. "Cuddie shall fetch some for you right away."

Two successive pops, three curtsies, another handshake, and two thank-yous later, Harry sat on his bed with a truly extravagant silver tray laden with a hot tureen of stew, a loaf of his favourite dark bread, a silver bowl of chilled, whipped honey butter, a plate of cheeses and fruits, a small decanter of ice-cold pumpkin juice, a pitcher of water, and a pot of earl gray tea complete with sugar bowl and skim milk. All came served upon the crest-stamped plate and silverware used in the great hall at dinner.

"Wow," he said appreciatively.

His stomach grumbled, but before he tucked into his later supper, he snapped a photo.

"We've got to hire a house-elf," he groaned around his first spoonful of rich, delicious lamb stew.

Dinner eaten, crowd controlled, Neville safely ensconced in Madam Pomfrey's care, and status won within Slytherin house, Harry washed up for bed and sat down at his writing desk. He unscrewed the cap of his fountain pen and pulled out the cream-coloured stationary the Doctor bought him along with his birthday gifts.

_Dear Mum, Dad and Jenny,_

He paused, staring at the page.

_Today I flew on a broomstick and learned to shoot fireballs out of my wand. Hermione's got better aim, though. I think I'm a latent pyromaniac, because I had way too much fun._

_I'm doing well, and I'll keep your advice in mind. I've also managed a spot on my house's Quidditch team, so I think I'll be making some friends here, soon._

_Jen, I haven't forgotten. I'll make it a priority this weekend. It's just been really busy. I'll send more photos as soon as they're developed._

_Also, look up house elves and see if we can hire one. I just had the most amazing service of my life, including that one time we stayed at that five-star resort in Greece._

_Love you all,_

_Harry_

* * *

A/N: Let me know how you feel about Snape. When I started writing this, I was fully prepared to make him as much as a jerk as ever, but factoring in the differences the Doctor's made in Harry's early development, I thought I'd try something different. But, as always, only time will tell.

I'll be picking up the pace from here onward. Don't worry, Hermione fans. She will be one of Harry's very closest friends, at the very least. I'm not declaring _**any**_ pairings as yet. You'll have to wait and see if or when it happens. This story's not primarily a romance; however, so don't hold your breath.

Also, a fair warning to those who haven't read my profile: I'm not opposed to non-traditional or controversial pairings, so no complaints will be entertained or acted upon if my muse takes any of these characters somewhere you aren't expecting.


	8. Fairies, Headaches and Trolls

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Chapter Eight: Fairies, Headaches and Trolls

* * *

**8 September 2012**

"Why-"

Neville huffed and wheezed as he jogged to catch up to Harry.

"Are we running?"

He squeezed the words between laboured, rattling breaths, and One of his hands clutched a stitch in his side. Harry turned to run backwards as he faced his unconditioned but dedicated friend.

"Because I'm going to be doing somersaults in midair come October, and I don't want anyone to fall off my broom because I don't have the stamina to hold on," Harry explained. "I really don't mind if you wait till after I'm finished to join me."

Neville clutched his knees but shook his head. Sweat poured off his face and his overgrown, dishwater bangs clung to his brow in sticky clumps.

"It's good for me," he insisted with a slightly pained smile. "Besides, what if I need to save _you_ someday?"

Harry sighed and shook his head.

"If you're sure, Nev. But take it easy, okay? I've been running for years conditioning for footie," he reminded the steadfast Gryffindor. "You've already run more today than I expect most wiz-kids have in whole lifetimes."

Neville nodded his acceptance and continued his shuffling run as Harry took off again.

"What's 'footie'?" the other boy groaned when Harry lapped him for the second time.

"Wizless game a little like Quidditch. Bunch of players try to take the ball down the pitch by kicking and passing it. Lots of running involved."

"That sounds awful," Neville hissed, his face the picture of misery.

"If you're not conditioned, it is," Harry agreed genially. "But that's why we trained like this. Every other day, we'd run a few miles, do a few drills, so whenever we had a match we could go for hours, if we had to."

Neville couldn't seem to accept that 'fun' and 'running' could possibly coexist in any sensible reality, but Harry didn't mind. They kept going, and Harry began his third lap around the lake while Neville continued his first. As he started flagging, Harry slowed and lifted his knees higher with each step, so as to keep pace with the exhausted boy. By the time they came back around to the west bank, he was watching to make sure his determined friend didn't pass out, vomit, or both.

"You did great," Harry congratulated. "Next time, we'll start out at a slower pace, though, okay? And you can join me for my second lap and not do the first with me till you're ready. It's over a mile and a half around, I think, and you could use the time better to stretch."

Neville nodded weakly and tucked his head between his knees.

"I think I'll follow your advice next time," he moaned. "I feel horrible."

Harry patted Neville's shoulder sympathetically.

"Go on and grab a kip. We'll be experimenting again tomorrow afternoon, anyway," he said in reference to their explorations of the hidden room. "I've got a different project planned for today."

Neville nodded and rose to make his way, sweating and trembling to the hospital wing for an easy-access bed and a pepper-up potion, leaving Harry to finish his stretches on his own.

An hour later, the Slytherin emerged from his common room freshly showered and dressed from to seek out Hermione. He had a mission to accomplish by curfew. Based on Hermione's description and his observations of the comings and goings of Hufflepuff house, he had built a hypothesis of its entrance's room address, too. And, having sought out the castle elves several times since his encounter with Cuddie, Harry had a fairly good idea where the kitchens were.

This led him to stand in a corridor across from an out-of-the-way nook where a stack of barrels lay stacked innocuously against the wall. Each one was wider than Harry was tall and each looked exactly like the others, down to the very last tap. It was their uniformity that gave them away, in Harry's opinion.

He had to tread carefully. He'd told Hermione he'd meet her in her common room, and she had accepted his word without questioning his logic. Most likely, she accepted Harry wanted to test himself and would be amused by the outcome no matter what it was. So, there he stood, on the other side of the hidden Hufflepuff entrance, hoping he had developed his magical sensitivity enough through Professor Snape's tutelage to find the difference between _the_ barrel and the others.

He knew from observing some Hufflepuff first years that a wrong pass code rewarded potential intruders by dousing them in vinegar so strongly aged it had to be elf-washed before the smell left one's clothes, let alone their hair or skin. The pass code itself didn't pose any challenge. He'd overheard a prefect telling her younger charges about the nuances in rhythm that could potentially result in a day smelling like spoiled fish 'n chips, but so long as he managed to rap "Hel-ga Huf-fle-puff" at the correct tempo, that component of the problem wasn't difficult.

"But which one are you?" Harry asked the magic-ridden air.

He had closed his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and dived behind his mental wall to meditate for several minutes across from the troublesome barrels. He had been at it so long that he'd drawn the attention of several curious and concerned Hufflepuffs.

Used to his oddness by now, however, none of them questioned or tried to deter him.

"The way we figure it," Gabriel Truman, one of the 'Puff Prefects, had put it when Harry first asked, "If you have the dedication to sit out here and go at it until you find it _without_ cheating, we'll make you an honorary 'Puff."

That was two hours ago.

He stared again at the stubbornly identical barrel faces and reviewed the rules mentally.

1) Don't get the rhythm wrong.

2) Don't knock on the wrong barrel.

3) Don't get it wrong once and try again. The entrance will not open if a magical signature tried once in error and tries again, even if the person gets it right the second time.

He chewed the inside of his lower lip for a long moment as he pondered his next course of action. He really _didn't_ want to shower again, and if he wanted to fulfil his promise to his sister _and_ beat his self-imposed challenge on the same day, Harry really needed to get inside the Badger's den _soon_.

Also, Hermione would tease him mercilessly. She had wholeheartedly embraced the Hufflepuffs-don't-compete-with-one-another-outside-classroom-exercises rule once an upperclassman explained their reasoning behind it, and so she now looked to Harry and the top-ranked Ravenclaws to challenge her rather voracious competitive spirit.

The eleven-year-old boy breathed deep, closed his eyes, and focused again. So far, he'd avoided touching the barrels at all for fear of the vinegar shower, but he didn't see how else he could figure it out. Gingerly, he stepped blindly forward and brushed his fingers as lightly as he could across the surface of the nearest barrel. He held his breath and squeezed his mouth shut just in case.

A second passed, then another before he felt safe in breathing normally again.

The magic of the castle thrummed beneath his fingertips, and he could taste the Den's Door on the tip of his tongue. It was just a hint of sweetness layered over the usual flavour of ozone and petrichor that made magic taste of a thunderstorm in the making. Harry slid his fingertips over the wood until he reached the edge and moved on to the next barrel, and the next, chasing the elusive sweetness separate from the now familiar flavour that was Hogwarts. The tickle grew stronger. Harry thought he could almost identify the taste, until, finally, he stopped.

He opened his eyes to find himself staring at the middle barrel on the second row. The sweetness of honeysuckles at the height of spring danced across his palate.

"I feel stupid," he griped as he examined the apparent entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.

Of course, it was in the middle. And of course, it was just high enough that it wouldn't trouble any first-year to climb through with the door swung open. He supposed that while magic could accommodate for apparently impossible physics, Helga had thought accessibility more important than concealment. Obviously, he should have considered the simple solution more seriously before wasting the last two hours sitting on his bum. Harry shrugged.

Resigned to Hermione's teasing – He was sure _she_ would have riddled it out faster – He rapped the rhythm to _Hel-ga Huf-fle-puff_ on the door and it swung silently open. He hoisted himself up easily and walked down the tunnel, following the warm yellowish light ahead of him.

The Hufflepuff common room felt as cosy as Slytherin's felt coolly luxurious. Wide, recessed circular windows toward the top of a domed ceiling revealed views of swaying grass, wildflowers and dandelions. An oculus bordered by green capped the dome's apex and filled the room with warm sunlight, beneath which a low-walled, circular garden thrived. A narrow, burbling stream flowed around its edges within the bounds of a burnished copper rim. Other plants hummed, danced and fluttered about the room in the windowsills, suspended from the ceiling, or potted around the edge of the space between soft, butter-yellow hangings. Overstuffed sofas and armchairs sat in clusters everywhere, and seven rounded wooden archways led out of the common room at even intervals, all spaced in relation to the arched fireplace roaring merrily across from the room's entrance. Its honey-coloured, wooden mantelpiece danced with moving depictions of miniscule badgers frolicking across its surface.

Hermione lay sprawled by the circular garden upon a thick carpet of multi-shaded yellow. Sunlight cast her chocolate curls with hints of cinnamon, and her dark caramel skin took on a golden hue as she bathed in sunlight and read her book.

"Who're you?" a huge flowering plant asked him as he passed.

Harry blinked at the thing's great pink petals, which worked a bit like a mouth, and wondered after the influences of magic on mundane literature. Lewis Carroll's works immediately came to mind.

He also wondered after the ethics of using apparently sentient plants in potions ingredients. He would have to discuss it further with the Doctor.

A few Hufflepuffs congratulated him for finding the entrance while he made his way across the common room, and Hermione looked up with a rueful grin as his shadow fell across her book.

"You said we were meeting over an hour ago," she reminded him.

"Yes, well, I'm not as clever as I thought or I would have given myself more time," Harry joked as he ran a hand through his hair. "Still want to help me?"

"Sure."

She closed her book and it scuttled off to join a pile stacked near a large armchair.

"What are we doing, again?" she asked, retrieving a well-worn cardigan from a chair before allowing Harry to lead the way out of the badgers' den.

"We're going hunting for a rock."

Hermione grunted as she jumped down from the barrel after her Slytherin friend.

"A rock? You made me wait up for you over a _rock_?" she asked indignantly. "I thought we were going to test out that room again."

Hermione was not amused.

"Susan and Hannah invited me on a picnic!"

"Let me finish!" Harry said before she could work herself into a rant. "When I left for Hogwarts, my sister was really upset, right?"

Hermione's agitated features softened a little, so Harry ploughed on, blushing all the while.

"I made her this daft promise I'd never stop being her brother and a lot of other mushy stuff, and I promised I'd carve it in stone for her, if she wanted, and send it to her. A Hogwarts-specific stone."

Harry shrugged at the conclusion of his admission and looked anywhere but at Hermione. He would have preferred to undertake this particular mission on his own, but he couldn't afford to get caught doing something weird by himself lest he land himself on Snape's boil-in-acid list, especially after the disastrous flying lesson.

With Hermione accompanying him, he'd have a lookout.

"She's five and our family isn't so good at making friends with normal people," he elaborated when the silence stretched on. "We're all a bit bonkers."

"I believe _that_," Hermione teased with a huff. "Fine. Let's go find your rock and _then_ let's try to make that room show up again."

"Deal."

…

Harry and Hermione ducked behind a flutterby bush as an enraged swarm of tiny, luminescent creatures flew overhead. The two children held their breath behind their hands until they couldn't see the glow of their pursuers' tiny multicoloured bodies any longer.

"Well that was a bad idea," Harry whispered.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I told you normal rocks weren't that reflective," she reminded him.

"When did you do that?" he griped. "And how was I supposed to know they were using it as a mirror?"

Hermione's mouth puckered in annoyance as she picked bits of dried leaves and bracken off the skirt of her blue cotton sundress.

"I don't know. The mushroom circle? The little leaves curled up like upside down ice cream cones?"

"Why didn't you say anything?" Harry complained.

He sucked a little gingerly at the bite he'd received on his right thumb. Fairies weren't poisonous like their doxy cousins, but they still had very sharp teeth.

"By the time I realized what I was looking at, you'd already tried to grab it," she said a little more apologetically.

The boy sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Should have been more careful, I guess. But really, this shouldn't be that hard!"

"Shhh!" Hermione hissed, clapping a hand over Harry's mouth.

A few crows took off from the nearby treetops, cawing at the disturbance.

"Ugh…"

Harry could not understand how finding a silly rock could be so freakishly difficult.

They had started on the west side of the lake over an hour ago, but most of the stones were either too large or too small to be of use for Harry's purposes. They'd asked Hagrid, but his idea of "pretty rock" and "manageable" led them to a spot at the bottom of the cliffs upon which Hogwarts rested, where they encountered some very irritable crabs only _pretending_ to be smooth, purple and green river stones the size of dinner plates. And though there _were_ a few discarded shells on the beach, nothing would have convinced Harry or Hermione to brave those snapping claws to retrieve them.

Afterward, they'd wandered the grounds, going from one cluster of rocks to another. They found plenty of stones in all the sizes, colours and shapes Harry deemed unsuitable until they encountered the mirror-like oval of smooth purple crystal hidden away in a little copse of trees near Hogwarts' gates. Harry's fingers barely brushed the reflective surface when the fairies attacked with their sharp teeth and needle-like fingers.

He was frankly loosing hope while mentally screaming that something must be wrong with the world when a boy couldn't find a stupid rock for a silly, spur-of-the-moment promise made to a five-year-old-girl with a ridiculous amount of power over her twice-older brother.

"What have we here, Fred?"

Hermione poked Harry in the arm, and he twisted his neck uncomfortably to stare up at the Weasley twins' identical faces peering over the top of their hiding spot.

"I dunno, George. Harry Potter and a firstie friend, it looks like."

"Harry's a first-year too, you know," Hermione complained.

"Perhaps, but he's legendary. He annoyed McGonagall and _won_ points. No one's ever done that in the history of McGonagall," explained George.

"And _we'd_ know, as we've frustrated her to the point of frenzy," agreed Fred.

"Fury, even." George added.

"So," they began again, in unison this time. "What _are_ you up to?"

"Trying to find my sister a present," Harry griped.

As amusing as he would normally found the twins, whose magic tasted of the Doctor's brand of mischief, he'd been bitten, clawed, scraped and bruised in the past hour and he was rather tired of the experience.

"A gift you say?"

"A gift, indeed, dear George."

"We, Our Good Master Snake Lord, can help," they chorused.

Harry groaned and stood slowly, mindful of the rather large bruise he'd sustained to the leg earlier in his attempt to run away from the supernaturally fast crabs.

"Sorry, gents, but I need something specific."

Hermione nodded and stood just as gingerly. She hadn't escaped unscathed, either.

"You're looking for a rock-" one began in a singsong voice.

"A stone-" the other continued.

"Though we don't know why you'd want more-"

"Seeing as you've got plenty of your own!" they finished together.

"But as it so happens, we know where you can find the perfect sample of Hogwarts masonry _within_ the castle. No need to keep roughing it out here."

Tired, testy and not a little hopeful the twins weren't messing with them, Harry and Hermione followed the Gryffindors back into the castle after a few well-placed _scourgify_ charms and a minor pain numbing charm applied directly to Harry's trouser leg to help soothe his bruise.

The first-years stared at the bricked up arch before them in bemusement.

"This is a prefects bathroom," Harry remarked.

"Yes, yes it is," Fred assured him.

"If you're making more jokes about bollocks –"

Hermione blushed.

"-I'm _really_ not in the mood."

George grinned.

"Really, We're not. Just go on into any of the stalls and take your pick.

"Gabriel's right about you two," Hermione declared. "You're both completely mad."

The twins sighed and shrugged.

"We try to help-"

"And this is how they repay us!"

"How disappointing."

Harry sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"Fine," he breathed, "Let's see what you've got, gentlemen."

He stepped forward through the bricked archway pretending to be a wall and entered one of the many marble stalls. He blinked.

"You have _got_ to be joking."

There was a brief, metallic crunching sound before Harry emerged from the pretend-wall, clutching a toilet seat sculpted from solid, highly polished rose quartz.

"You _can't _be serious," Hermione groaned, her face caught somewhere between scandalised and begrudgingly entertained.

The twins and Harry burst into rich laughter.

* * *

**12 September 2012  
**

_Dear Jenny,_

_I couldn't ever forget a sister as annoying as you. And don't worry. I won't forget your birthday, either._

_Love,_

_Harry_

Jenny pocketed the note and struggled to flip the roughly oval-shaped parcel to attack the neat knots securing it on the other side.

"Mum!" she called when her fingers proved unskilled in undoing the rough twine.

"What is it?" Rose shouted back from the tree house's upstairs, across the garden.

"I got a present from Harry but I can't get the string!"

"I hid the safety scissors in the one really ugly flower pot," Rose yelled. "But so help me, if you try to give the kitten a hair-cut again, Jenny Renette, you can forget that surprise later!"

"Okaaay!"

Jenny hefted the heavy parcel into her arms and marched back inside with Hedwig, Harry's beautiful snowy owl, still clinging to her. The owl was still an adolescent, according to the Doctor, and so just barely managed to cling to the little girl's narrow shoulder as she went through the house. An orange cat with a squashed face surrounded by a horribly uneven mane followed behind them like a fluffy, bandy-legged shadow.

The girl stood on tiptoe to reach the very ugly duck-shaped flowerpot her mum kept tucked on a bookshelf in the corner of the games room. She shoved her whole arm in its wide, silently quacking mouth and wiggled her fingers until she felt the hard plastic grips of her previously imprisoned crafting scissors.

Equipped with the proper tools, the heavyweight twine impeding her quickly fell away, leaving Jenny free to rip, tear and shred her way to the surprise within. Whatever it was sparkled in shades of pale rose to dusky pink whenever the sunlight hit it. Hedwig and Sir Wibbly watched with cocked heads as their human child worked the remaining brown paper off the mysterious stone object.

Jenny pouted in confusion. The side facing her felt completely flat and the other, more rounded side felt like someone had gouged bits of it off. She flipped it over with a little effort and grinned as she recognized the letters, even if the handwriting wasn't familiar.

"Mummy!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Hedwig and Sir Wibbly retreated in the wake of her shrill cry of doom.

"What?" Rose shouted back, her voice muffled by several feet of open air, most of a garden and part of the games room wall.

"Harry sent me a promise on a Hogwarts toilet seat! It's made of crystal!"

A moment of silence passed in which Hedwig and Sir Wibbly blinked at one another and ducked their heads to protect their sensitive ears.

"That's my boy!" the Doctor shouted.

"He nicked a toilet seat?" Rose demanded.

Jenny giggled and ran to show her mum and dad Harry's gift.

* * *

**20 October 2012**

Harry sighed as he slumped into one of the tree house duplicate's beanbags before the huge screen mounted on the wall. Hermione and Neville picked their favourite seating, a yellow and red bag respectively, and pulled them closer to Harry's sides. Neville started setting out the snacks Hermione had brought from the kitchens in lieu of going down to lunch. Hermione un-stoppered the three bottles of butterbeer Neville so graciously donated from the stash his Gran maintained for him. Harry did his utmost to not fall asleep, despite how deliciously the beanbag cradled his weight. He felt gravity pulling on his limbs and head, and he could not remember a time when he felt more tired.

The last few weeks had rushed on in a flash. After the first week, classes settled into an easy rhythm interspersed with personal conditioning, weekend experimenting with the mysterious room, and once-weekly quidditch practice supervised by Madam Hooch through the end of September. Of course, the beginning of October brought him an entirely new practice experience, but even that had only helped to speed his weeks along.

Thankfully, they had no trouble reopening the room just as they remembered it, and Hermione was further delighted to discover its abilities extended even further beyond its already miraculous track record. Neville got quite good at summoning whatever he wanted, including places he had never seen before. Somehow, he instinctively grasped what the telepathic field needed to construct the place he desired.

They made themselves a swimming pool, the interior of a submarine (after Harry and Hermione described it), the Hogwarts Library (at Hermione's insistence), the Ravenclaw common room (at Harry's curiosity), and a place none of them had ever seen before: Pharaoh Tutankhamen's burial chamber (which they cross-checked against photo print-outs the Doctor sent them).

They also attempted connecting with Hermione and Neville's homes by asking for a room with the same functionality as Harry's mirrored tree house, but so far, neither had worked.

That led to a very long and detailed letter to the Doctor reporting their findings, after which Harry's father spent the better part of October experimenting on _his_ tree house to see what made it unique. The tests had been inconclusive as of yet, but hadn't stopped them from using the connection in the meantime.

As it was, Harry's parents had asked for a meeting to update the kids on another project in the works. The Doctor and Rose had tracked down the correct department in the Ministry of Magic responsible for maintaining children's birth and custody records. As of the following Monday, Mr John Smith (previously of Salem, Massachusetts, USA) would be joining the Ministry of Magic as a second shift clerk in the department of citizen records. Mrs Roselyn Smith, as a squib handy with muggle technology, would be working second shift in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office completing and filing paperwork after hours.

Harry yawned hugely. He wasn't sure how long he could wait before falling victim to his very long day.

"Harry!" the Doctor crowed as the screen hummed to life in crystal-clear clarity.

"Hi Dad," Harry mumbled, half-melted into his beanbag.

The Doctor seemed to pout a bit at Harry's lacklustre greeting.

"You look out of sorts," he commented. "Anything wrong?"

"Ugh."

"Oh, very eloquent, Harry," Hermione scolded. "The Slytherins are beating him up at his quidditch practices."

"No they're not," Harry protested weakly.

"No, mate. She's right," Neville countered.

"Why're you taking her side?" Harry whigned. "I'm just knackered, Dad. I've got two practices a week on top of classes and homework, and I've been trying to get conditioned again, not to mention the constant headaches I've been getting lately."

The Gryffindor and the Hufflepuff frowned as Harry sunk ever deeper into his friendly beanbag chair.

"Any nightmares?" Rose asked, leaning over the Doctor's shoulder, sporting a new hair colour not far off from Jenny's coppery locks.

She wore it in messy curls, and Harry frowned a little as he shook his head. He groaned in his efforts to stretch his arm toward a roast beef sandwich.

"Mrs Tyler, I like your new hairstyle," Hermione complimented. "It's really pretty."

Rose smiled.

"Thanks, love. So does Jen, but I think I'll always be a blonde on the inside," she winked. "We're going undercover, though, so I thought I should change it up."

The black-haired blob of preteen exhaustion sat up straighter at that news.

"What about Jen?"

"Staying with Gran, Gramps and Tony," the Doctor answered.

"_Deep_ cover or is post okay?" Harry asked after he swallowed another bite.

The Doctor scratched his chin, and squinted one of his eyes as he conducted a brief internal debate.

"Post's fine. Use the aliases. We're exploring wizarding territory, anyhow. You might want to use another owl, though. Hedwig's great, but she stands out," he rattled off. "Snowies aren't all that common anywhere this far south, from what the gentlemen at Eyelops told us. Especially as post owls."

Harry nodded and sank back again. A moment later, soft snores emanated from the top of his beanbag. Everyone's faces fell a little, the Doctor's especially.

"Kids, how's he doing, really?" Rose half-whispered.

Neville sighed as he corked Harry's unfinished butterbeer.

"Really not good. I'm not great mates with any of his house, but Greengrass and I used to holiday on the same lake before her dad died," Neville offered. "I asked her, and she said Harry's up past midnight most nights, just reading in the common room by the fire. She says no one bothers him or anything because he's their seeker, and they're all mad about Quidditch but…"

Hermione scowled and speared some salad with a little more force than absolutely necessary. The tines of her fork scraped gratingly against the china.

"His teammates aren't fair players, either," she hissed. "I think they're hazing him in practices. He always comes back completely exhausted and bruised more often than not. I saw him fall asleep in his pudding last night, and they were serving _treacle_."

"He loves treacle," the Doctor frowned, scratching at his five-o-clock shadow.

"And he's been complaining about headaches since just after our first flying lesson," Neville added. "I don't think they ever go away."

"Doesn't sound good, at all," Rose agreed, worrying her lower lip. "I wish we were there. Do look after him, won't you? We'll try our best to get some new information on this end."

Hermione and Neville both nodded.

"We will."

"Of course Doctor and Mrs Tyler," Hermione reaffirmed. "Do give my parents a ring for me?"

"I'll tell Jean you're well. Bye kids."

Rose exited the range of the screen, and the Doctor dropped his voice to a low rumble.

"Keep an eye on him," he ordered sternly. "If the headaches get worse, someone send me a message. Hedwig's good for that one, so long as you tell her to deliver it to the tree house. I don't like any of what I've been hearing. Remember the rules, kids."

The screen went dark.

* * *

**31 October 2012**

The castle swam with activity, all live bats, dancing skeletons, and gigantic jack-o-lanterns among which the students of Hogwarts frolicked after classes. Harry watched it all from the sunbathed balcony on the east side of the clock tower. Hedwig perched heavily on his shoulder, grown a quarter larger of her original size since his family adopted her.

"I hate Halloween," he murmured, stroking the owl's soft white feathers.

Hedwig gave a short series of shrieks.

Since morning, a different sort of whisper had been running through the castle after him quite unlike the usual garbage.

"Do you think he remembers what _he_ looked like?"

"Do you think he remembers it at all?"

"I wonder if the Potters knew how powerful their kid would be, and that's why they went into hiding."

"Do you think he remembers killing _him,_ and that's why he's not afraid to say the name?

And those were the kinder comments.

"I wonder if it's why the Hat put him in Slytherin."

"If his adopted parents are really wizards, they're probaly ex-Death Eaters. I bet that's why he's so good at everything."

"Why else would they have kept him secret for so long?"

"He's even better than Granger and the Ravenclaw Patil."

"I bet You-Know-Who didn't want any competition and killed his mum so she couldn't make any more of them."

By the time his afternoon classes ended, Harry was sick of them all. Even the Wizless-raised kids bought into the hype as the day wore on. Hermione, as good a friend as she was, just told him to ignore it. She suggested they all hang out in the tree house, but without the potential to talk to his mum and dad, Harry didn't really want to be there. Her backup strategy was to deconstruct, with extreme prejudice, the logic of each new piece of gossip whilst summarily dismissing the intelligence and moral worth of the perpetrators.

Eventually, Neville – bless him – very nicely asked Hermione to shut it and told Harry to get away for the evening, at least until the feast. Harry had gladly accepted the invitation, which led him to climb up to the balcony on the east side of the clock tower facing the rest of the castle. A while into his vigil, Hedwig had joined him. He watched the shadows stretching across the courtyard below grow longer. The sky bled from grey-blue to inky velvet at the edges and orangey-pink at the horizon.

He wasn't sure if he was truly _sad_. After all, Harry had never _known_ his birth parents. He didn't even have memories, really, just faint impressions. The smell of vanilla and cinnamon made him feel at home, though Rose had never used either fragrance to scent their house. She was a crisp apple and magnolia sort of person. And though he'd known for a very long time his parents died violently and prematurely in his defence, Harry hadn't had much a reason to mourn. He had never _felt_ like an orphan before he came to Hogwarts. While his mum and dad helped Harry memorialise them every Halloween, the experience had never been coloured with _sadness_ so much as _gratefulness_. However, being in the wizarding world had awakened in him a new appreciation of the man and woman who had sired him.

There were books written about James and Lily Potter, Lord and Lady of the same name, Hereditary Peers of Her Majesty's Wizengamot. In them, he learned the story of how two very different strangers had met and fallen in love as they rebelled against an ethnocentric and tyrannical ideology.

Along with a group of unsanctioned freedom fighters, they had resisted Lord Voldemort's attempts for recruitment, defended those who could not defend themselves when their government failed to do so, and succeeded in ending, arresting, or assisting in the arrest of several in the Death Eater organisation.

Then, they'd gone into hiding to protect their unborn child, and eventually died in defending him as a very young toddler. The stories he read _were_ tragic, but he didn't understand the extent of their heroism and sacrifice until now.

His year group only contained forty students. Second year ranked hardly better with eighty-nine and third year with one hundred and fifteen. The average before the war had hovered around three hundred students per year group, an average over a hundred students greater than any of the current classes. Only forty first-year children's parents had survived or remained in the UK long enough to conceive them. His parents had _stopped_ that carnage.

With that in mind, hearing his schoolmates say such horrible things about the night they died for him and them-

Harry really didn't want to go back down for dinner. He was already late, though, and it was beginning to get cold as the sun sunk lower and lower over the horizon.

Sighing, he bid Hedwig goodbye and began the descent to the great hall.

Hardly anyone noticed him enter aside from Hermione and Neville. He gave them a bit of a wave before he took his seat between Zabini and Davis.

"Where's Daphne?" he asked after he had loaded his plate with salad and a few pieces of duck roast.

It wasn't often Tracy Davis could be found without the statuesque blonde at her side.

"Loo," she said dryly. "She's been there a while. I think Malfoy got on her nerves."

"Why wouldn't she just go up to the dormitories?" Zabini complained. "She's acting like an injured Badger."

"Shut it, you."

Tracy's implied threat seemed to cow the boy enough that went back to eating.

Harry thought he shouldn't pry. If something had upset her, it'd probably be a tetchy subject with Tracy, too. The little mental voice his dad had trained to scold him if he tried to ignore a problem nagged at him, though.

"Is she okay?" he finally asked after taking a few bites of a truly delicious roast.

Tracy scowled and dropped to a whisper.

"Even Slytherins forget not all our parents were _his_ followers," she hissed. "He was especially cruel to the purebloods who defied him."

"Ah," Harry said sympathetically. "That sounds like Malfoy, all right. You're not going to check on her?"

Both Blaise and Tracy shuddered.

"You've never seen her upset before," the boy explained. "I'd rather face a rampaging giant."

Harry let the subject drop and tucked into his food with more vigour than he felt. He would rather not be eating among the merry-makers happily celebrating All Hallows Eve and the event of his orphaning, an occasion otherwise known as Boy-Who-Lived-Day to many.

He was about to take an extra large slice of treacle (because his mum taught him sugar cured all ills) when the doors banged open to admit a wheezing and shivering Professor Quirrel. He stopped just inside the threshold and bent forward as if he were going to be sick. A pang shot across Harry's forehead, and his fork clattered loudly against his plate in the sudden quiet.

"Troll!" the professor gasped. "In the dungeon!"

He took a great, shuddering breath.

"There's a troll in the dungeon-"

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his knees buckled, and he fell forward.

Pandemonium ensued.

People screamed and stared at one another in rapidly building panic. A few stood but could not decide where to go. Those prefects sound enough of mind to do so valiantly tried shouting over the voices of their charges to corral them to no great effect. Finally, the headmaster stood and produced an echoing _BANG!_ with his wand. Dead silence followed, though the air still tasted of sour hysteria.

"All students: Please form an orderly queue. First order prefects will escort their charges to their common rooms. Second order prefects will take the rear and flanks of each queue."

Four hidden arches, wide as Hagrid and nearly as tall, slid open in the walls nearest the house tables with a grinding sound and a lot of dust. The keystone in each arch displayed its house's crest.

"Staff, with me."

Everyone rushed to follow the professor's instructions except for Harry, Tracy, Blaise and Draco, who lingered in his seat with a green tinge to his face.

Harry looked around for Professor Snape, but he was nowhere in sight. The majority of his house had already disappeared into the Slytherin archway. He ran to follow the professors who had run out of the hall.

They were _fast_. He stood staring down the empty dungeon stairway helplessly.

"Bollocks," he hissed.

Then he remembered: not all staff attended the feast.

"Madam Pomfrey!" he bellowed as he took off running.

He reached the hospital wing in record time and the door swung open to admit him before he could touch it.

"Madam Pomfrey! There's a troll, and Greengrass doesn't know, and I couldn't catch the other professors before they went after it!"

The woman looked up from her desk in alarm and ran forward to meet him.

"Shall I stay-"

"Can't leave you unattended," she barked. "With me, Potter!"

She waved her wand as the doors shut, and Harry heard many large, heavy locks slide into place.

"Where is she?" the matron demanded.

"Girl's loo, main floor I think!"

The healer ran off in a swirl of green and white robes, Harry on her heels. She, like the other professors, ran with surprising speed for someone over sixty years of age. Even with his daily run, Harry was hard pressed to keep up with her long strides; his legs were slower in his long school robe.

They turned a corner, then another, and a scream and a crash sounded ahead of them.

Madam Pomfrey ran faster, and Harry pulled his robe over his head and threw it behind him mid-stride. Unimpeded by the garment, he quickly outstripped her as he sprinted to the smashed-in door to the girl's bathroom.

A stench like an open sewer line assaulted his nose as he took in the wreckage before him. Daphne cowered beneath a gushing sink in the far corner of the bathroom, trembling in terror. A vaguely man-shaped creature standing twelve feet tall and four feet wide loomed mere paces from her. To Harry's srprise, Tracy and Blaise stood just beyond the threshold, both levitating debris at the creature, but the troll merely swatted at the bits of pipe and brick as if they were no more troublesome than gnats.

Madam Pomfrey slid to a stop at Harry's side and shoved him behind her a little roughly.

"Are you all right, Miss Greengrass?" she called as she levelled her wand at the troll. "Mr Zabini and Miss Davis, you will come here, this instant!"

The Troll looked about in confusion at the noise while Blaise and Tracey gratefully rushed to the matron's side. The creature, grunting threateningly, turned slowly. It dragged its huge club from a trailing arm, and the grinding scrape it made echoed strangely through the high-ceilinged lavatory.

As soon as his fellow Slytherins had cleared her line of fire, the healer let loose a barrage of spells so varied that Harry couldn't distinguish between one and the next. Bolts of green, red, blue and gold shot from her weapon at the lumbering beast. Gashes opened up on its mottled, green and brown skin, and greyish blood spurted out of the open wounds. The troll screamed in rage. Harry ducked instinctively as it blindly swung his club as if to stop the onslaught. Daphne shrunk against the wall as it missed her sheltering sink by scant inches.

Pomfrey hissed and tried again, only to drive the troll further away as it fled from the pain of her wand. It leaned sideways and took out the remaining stalls to Daphne's left. Debris exploded in every direction; a large chunk flew and hit the girl in the face. She slid to the floor, and Harry grabbed Madam Pomfrey's arm.

"Stop! You're making it worse!"

The woman stared down at him with panic pinching her face.

"I don't know what else I can do!" she spat. "I can't command enough power to put it down!"

"What if we hit it in the head with something?"

"Like what?"

Harry felt like screaming. The troll had realized the spells had stopped, and where they had come from. It was howling and glaring at them with unadulterated hate. It lurched forward faster than what should have been possible for a creature its size and weight.

Harry reacted on instinct. He whipped out his wand and incanted the first spells that came to mind.

"_LUMOS! WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!_"

The first set off a flash so bright it left all of them blinking through momentary blindness, but Harry had already fixed the position of his second target before he had cast. A great _THUNK!_ followed by a shattering crash echoed through the bathroom, and when they blinked the spots from their vision, the troll lay upon the flooded floor among the scattered remains of a heavy porcelain toilet.

Dark grey blood pooled slowly around its head and created sluggish swirls in the water covering the floor.

Madam Pomfrey levitated an unconscious Daphne over the troll's prone body. The girl sported a nasty gash above her eyebrow and a few cuts, but no other injuries as far as any of them could tell.

"Bloody hell," Blaise gasped, sinking to the floor.

Tracy silently held Daphne's limp hand as the matron worked on siphoning blood from her face with her wand.

"Poppy!"

Harry turned to see Professor McGonagall running up the hallway, her lips set into a thin line of unmistakeable fury. Snape limped slightly at one side with Quirell on the other. Neither looked happy. Snape, judging by the twitch in his eyebrow, seemed on the verge of apoplectic rage. Quirell, on the other hand, seemed close to fainting again. His face dripped sweat over grey cheeks and brows.

Harry did his level best to look as if he hadn't done anything wrong, but he couldn't quite manage to _feel_ that way. He could feel a headache growing rapidly behind his eyes.

"Madam Pomfrey," she began in low, clipped tones. "I hope you have some explanation as to why these children are here with you rather than in their common rooms, or I think I shall have to write their parents to inform them of their immediate expulsion."

Harry, Tracey and Blaise wisely kept their mouths shut. Pomfrey waved an impatient hand.

"I refused to leave them on their own with a troll on the loose," she snapped back. "They came to warn me their classmate, Miss Greengrass, was unaware of the danger, though I'm not sure why they didn't tell one of you or a prefect immediately."

Harry gratefully took his cue.

"By the time we realised the prefects didn't know, they'd already gone halfway down the passages and the professors had already left," he explained in a rush. "I realized Madam Pomfrey hadn't been at the feast, and since Professor Quirell said it was in the dungeons, I thought it would be safest to get her."

"And we tried to tell them – the prefects, that is – but they wanted to wait until we were all in the common room before informing you," Tracey expanded. "So Zabini and I came to tell Daphne while Harry got Madam Pomfrey."

Blaise nodded from his place still slumped on the floor.

McGonagall visibly deflated as she surveyed the wreckage along with Daphne's pale, bloodied face.

"In that case, we must thank you again for thinking of the safety of your fellow students, Mr Potter," she said in clipped tones. "Although, I think we must have a word with the Slytherin prefects over the matter."

"I assure you," Snape growled menacingly, "_I_ shall."

Harry nearly breathed a sigh of relief but wisely withheld it. The prefects were in for quite the conversation judging from Professor Snape's twitchy left eyebrow, and he very much did _not_ want to inspire the same lecture by appearing too unscathed.

Later that night, tucked into the safety of his bed, Harry gave thanks that he had thought to fetch Madam Pomfrey at all, for Snape's wrath had been fearsome indeed when they arrived in the common room. No points had been deducted, of course, as such a punishment would hurt the house as a whole, but the first-order prefects in charge of things like headcounts and official announcements were stripped of their first-order status and given a month each of detention. The other prefects were given two weeks' detention, each, with Filch. They were all forbidden to submit point deductions against other houses, and their Hogsmeade visitation privileges were revoked for the next two months.

Harry happily went to bed with no more than an exasperated glance from his head-of-house. He crawled beneath his downy coverlet feeling rather lucky, with only a faint tickle of curiosity at the back of his mind: What had happened to Professor Snape's leg?


	9. Violence Is the Answer

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Chapter Nine: Violence Is the Answer

* * *

**1 November 2012**

Harry woke feeling very glad the previous night's normally scheduled astronomy lesson had been cancelled in celebration of Halloween. The blood vessels in his head pounded a brutal tattoo against his skull. Harry rubbed his eyes and blinked blurrily up at the verdant wash of velvet canopy above him.

"Would you like your glasses?"

Harry sat bolt upright, clutching the duvet to his chin.

"Who's that?" he said in a voice much higher than it should have been.

He squinted through the dim light but couldn't make out the figure sitting in the chair by his bed. Whoever it was extended a limb, and Harry quickly accepted his glasses.

"Miss Greengrass," he spluttered as soon as he could see her clearly.

She raised a delicately arched brow. Her lips curled into a teasing smile as she crossed her legs.

"You called me Daphne just yesterday," she reminded him.

"Yes, but yesterday I didn't wake up to you sitting in my _bedroom!_" Harry hissed. "I'm not dressed!"

"Yes, I noticed," she hummed. "You know, you're rather well-formed for a boy your age."

Harry blushed scarlet and tucked the duvet tighter around his naked torso.

"How'd you even get in here?"

Harry's face burned, and his head hurt, and he felt like he could do with some more sleep. He definitely wasn't prepared to deal with a very posh (or maybe not as much as he thought, since she'd somehow snuck into his room) pureblood heiress sitting in his chair.

The young lady gave a tip of her hand in an isn't-it-obvious sort of way.

"I called a house elf and told her I wanted to look after you to be sure you hadn't suffered any ill effects after my most daring rescue from the clutches of a troll where even the illustrious and terrifying Madam Pomfrey failed."

"Cuddie brought you, didn't she?" Harry groaned.

Daphne inclined her head in curiosity.

"She's very devoted to you. Whatever you said to her has made her quite loyal. My older brother said she had charge of the Slytherin first year dormitories when he attended, too, but he described her as a bit stern and, dare I say, _cantankerously_ disinclined to assist her charges in the slightest misdeed."

The girl examined Harry with the same smirk affixed to her porcelain doll-like face.

"And yet, for you, she'll secret a girl into your room."

"Maybe she's just nicer than your brother knew. She's always been lovely with me. Anyway-" He gave Daphne a pointed glare. "Do you mind if I dress?"

"Not at all."

She continued to stare at him unabashedly.

"Do you mind turning around or something?"

She laughed at him.

"No."

Harry groaned and flopped back against his pillow.

"What sort of lady are you?" he complained.

"One entirely assured of her wants and desires and unashamed of her admiration of a perfectly fit boy."

Her smirk grew into a full-on grin.

"Why shouldn't I be? You boys watch we girls all the time. You simply lack the grace to admit it openly around the fairer sex."

"I don't!" Harry protested. "I mean, I'm aware of girls, sure, but I'm equally aware of boys and I don't-"

Harry stopped, sure that his face would melt off if he blushed any hotter.

"I'm going to close my curtains now. Could you please pass me my uniform?"

Daphne laughed as the boy allowed the heavy green drapes to fall about his four-poster.

* * *

**10 November 2012**

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_How are you enjoying work at the Ministry? I'm enjoying school quite a lot. Maia and Nev are as well as ever. Both are keeping an eye on me. _

_Maia doesn't like my new friend Daphne very much. Nev thinks she's jealous. I don't understand what either he or Daph are on about. Did I tell you she woke me up the morning after the walking boulder incident by barging into my room all "girls-have-as-much-right-to-stare-as-boys"?_

_I wasn't even dressed yet! _

_Anyway, she's really clever. As clever as Maia, even, though she doesn't let on as much. She's helped me make inroads with my housemates, too, so I'm glad she apparently approves of me, now. I think I might soon become friends with Trace and Blaise, too. They were the ones who helped deal with said boulder._

_I'm playing my first Quidditch match against the Goldenmanes this weekend. It's the second match of the season. From listening to Nev talk about their seeker, I think our team has a fair chance of winning the cup already. _

_Headaches are still a problem. Nothing works, even the nurse's best headache reliever. Haven't seen much of you-know-which-head-teacher. Also, He-who-flaps-a-lot's still not fully recovered from his injury. I still haven't figured out where he got it, but we tracked his and garlic-head's trail up to that locked down corridor._

_What do you think about possibly starting an exploration of the lockdown? I think it would continue the tradition of Smith family adventures._

_Love you both,_

_Jamie_

Rose breathed a long-suffering sigh as she folded up the letter and stowed it in her handbag. The man sitting across the desk gave her a gentle smile. The shadows overrunning the dimly lit office made his face look older than in reality, pulling its creases and smile lines into sharp relief against a freckled face.

"Letter from your boy?" he asked sympathetically.

Rose nodded, her mouth set in a dissatisfied pucker.

"If he's anything like my kids, I completely understand," the redhead murmured sympathetically. "I've got six boys, only two of them seem to keep out of trouble, and one of them hasn't been paying enough attention to his marks, lately. My youngest, Ginny, is nearly as bad as her older brothers. Sometimes worse, because I think she gets away with more than my wife would like to admit."

Rose laughed.

"I'm glad I've only got the one boy. He's not very much trouble himself," she admitted. "More like trouble seeks him out. Him _and_ his father."

"Ah, well. I hope he outgrows it, at least. Else it may just be a family trait."

"Thanks, Arthur," she smiled. "And I hope the same for your lot."

She went back to filling out the forms documenting the latest occasion of wizard-enchanted objects falling into the wrong hands. One Mr Coldridge Culpepper, a well-known thief, con artist and philanderer, had taken certain liberties with a recently deceased witch's belongings. Several items of poor woman's jewellery had wound up in the hands of several pawnbrokers through east London. Of course, such rare and beautiful items hadn't stayed on shelves for long. They quickly found places with several jewellers, individual buyers, and antique shops.

That alone was problematic, but the real trouble began when the jewels' protective enchantments came into play, and they started shouting obscenities at their unauthorised wearers. There had been so many witnesses, in fact, that Arthur had only just finished damage control. 'Damage control' included filing the paperwork for the many obliviations performed across London, conducting an expense report for the resources expended in their clean-up efforts, and the tagging and sorting of each stolen item in preparation for their transfer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

By the time he wrapped it all up, four o'clock had came and went, so he decided to doze the three scant hours left before his normal shift rather than risk falling into an exhaustion induced near-coma if he ventured home.

"Where did you say Jamie went to school?"

Rose's fountain pen paused on the form.

"Hogwarts, of course," she hummed. "It's hard having him so far away from home, but I suppose the other schools would have been worse."

"Right you are," Arthur agreed. "It's never easy with boarding schools."

The woman known as Roselyn Smith signed her name at the bottom of the form and put it into the thick file at her elbow before leaning back in her swivel chair with a sigh.

"Want some coffee, Arthur? I'm going down to meet the Doctor for my lunch break."

"Bless you," he said gratefully. "Just fetch me one on your way back. I think I'm going to have a bit of a kip."

Rose grabbed her purse and fled the tiny closet of an office, and its clutter, behind. She rode the lift up from the atrium to the forgotten little London alleyway phone box and walked down the street to the twenty-four hour pub on the corner. It was a seedy little place with sticky floors and grubby seating, but no wizards visited there, so it was a perfect meeting place when she needed to have a private conversation. Rose shed her tailored grey robe just outside the door and folded it over her arm in favour of the less conspicuous suit with its ankle-length skirt beneath. She pulled the pin out of her hair to let her curls fall around her shoulders as she went in.

The Doctor sat in a corner booth with two large helpings of shepherd's pie before him. She took the seat beside him and poured herself a steaming mug of strong tea while she examined his stormy face.

"Is it bad?" she finally asked.

He nodded and slid the file toward her. Their son's name, written in shimmering purple ink, stared up at her from the tab on the file. Her fingers tingled when she brushed them over the heavy cardstock.

"Lots of perception filters-" the Doctor frowned and began again. "Sorry, 'notice-me-nots' layered one atop the other on there. If you'd never been exposed to the TARDIS, you wouldn't be able to see it at all. I weakened them as much as I could with the anti-repelling field I built. Take a look."

Rose spent the rest of their lunch break flipping through the surprisingly thin file compiled on her son. She read falsified records detailing Harry's wizarding vaccinations from his first year though his fourth. She read health reports dated up to the current year, none of which accurately described the boy she loved. She found custody papers supposedly signed by Mr and Mrs Dursley, and voided custody claims belonging to a Godmother, Mrs Alice Longbottom, and Godfather, Mr Sirius Black, respectively. A few newspaper clippings showed Mr Black, a tall, dark-haired man identified by neatly written labels, laughing as aurors led him away from a devastating scene of death and destruction dated 1 November 2002. Every single document bore one name as their signing officiate: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

"So, there you have it," the Doctor murmured after another bite of pie. "It's his headmaster, again."

"Just why is he so interested in my boy?" she half-snarled, completely ignoring her food. "Why would he go through all that trouble to hide that file, fake the records, and dump him on a doorstep and fake _more_ records?"

"I don't know. It's obvious he didn't check up on him or we would have had trouble before now."

"And that letter," Rose grumbled.

"And the books," the Doctor said darkly.

His wife blinked.

"Books? What do you mean?"

The Doctor leaned forward across the table. His dark eyes swam with turbulent emotions.

"If Lily and James Potter were in deep hiding – probably under a Fidelius charm seeing as they disappeared so completely for so long – how did anyone know what happened that night to write those books?"

"They made it up," Rose answered immediately.

As soon as it left her lips, however, it felt wrong.

"Then why aren't there a bunch of different stories?" the Doctor reasoned. "I mean what happens _after_ Harry's placement with his relatives differs from source to source, but the accounts of the murder itself-"

"They all match," she realised. "So that means someone either witnessed, or _said_ they witnessed it and the immediate aftermath."

"How much would you like to bet me Harry's dear headmaster's responsible for that, too?" the Doctor snarled.

"So, if I've got the whole of it," Rose began again in a low, dangerous tone. "Voldemort targets Lily and James for whatever reason according to popular history, Harry survives, someone gives the press a bloody interview, then Dumbledore leaves him on a bloody doorstep without so much as ringing the bell and fakes all the records."

The Doctor's grim face bore all the signs of someone's approaching doom, mirroring the towering mood Rose had quickly worked herself into.

"And then the books make it out like he's some prophesied hero," she hissed. "It's got all the markings of a professional branding campaign."

"Yep. That's the conclusion I arrived at, too," the Doctor grumbled.

"And no one ever found a body, despite what Mr Ollivander said, and a good portion of the people arrested in the aftermath got off without so much as a slap on the wrist?" Rose added, her wide, light hazel eyes shining with barely restrained anger.

"Nope."

He popped the 'p'.

"He's perfectly set up as a white knight or a sacrificial lamb, depending on what comes," he concluded grimly.

"Right. Can we agree to suspend the non-violence rules?"

"Consider them suspended from here onward in any dire instance involving our kids."

Rose's pursed moue spread into a ruthless grin.

"Does that mean you're going to go buy a wand?" she asked sweetly.

"I'll do you one better, Rose Tyler," the Doctor rumbled, his teeth bared in a promise of much mischief. "I'm going to _build_ a wand. We've already concluded I can use a regular one, so we may as well improve at this point."

"Just don't blow anything up."

"If I do, I'll make sure to aim, first. Either that, or I'll build myself a lot of big threatening buttons to go along with said explosives."

* * *

**November 17, 2012**

The sky shone cloudless blue-grey over the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A light, cold breeze swept across the fields of dark green grass and the scent of hot, spiced pumpkin filled the halls. After all, giant, man-sized pumpkins made many, many pumpkin sweets, even half a month after Halloween.

The hall buzzed with excitement that Saturday morning, and up and down the Slytherin table, Harry's housemates called threats thinly veiled as encouragement at him. Daphne gave his arm a sympathetic pat.

"Don't worry," she said. "You can just take a long dive off your broom if you fail to catch the snitch and thus avoid the pain."

"You'll do fine."

Harry looked across the table in surprise at Malfoy's assertion. The boy hadn't said anything to him, positive or negative, since their small altercation in September.

"Professor Snape wouldn't have put such a do-gooder half-blood on the team, otherwise," he followed up.

Harry's curiosity spiked at the backhanded compliment as the blonde went back to eating his breakfast.

"There you have it," Blaise remarked. "Malfoy's given you his stamp of approval; therefore, your success is assured."

Harry's stomach felt as if he'd swallowed a flutterby bush as he stood to follow his team out of the hall. Hermione and Neville called their encouragement after them, a delightfully unrestrained contrast to his Slytherin friends' muted support. The rest of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs jeered, though Harry thought the Hufflepuffs' calls weren't aimed directed at him specifically, especially after his foray into their common room. The Gryffs, on the other hand, seemed to think it a personal insult against them on Harry's part that he hadn't been sorted into their house. At least, that's what Neville said when he last asked about their undue hostility toward him.

It was cooler outside than Harry would have liked, and he felt instantly glad his new quidditch kit had warming charms built in – a feature thoughtfully added by their head-of-house at the beginning of the season. He changed quickly, mindful of Flint's hawk-like gaze. The larger boy's eyes promised pain for the new seeker if he failed to perform today.

The flutterby bush wriggled painfully in his gut.

Adrian Pucey, a third year chaser who Harry had noted relied on his speed, strategy and talent over physical strength, contrary to the majority of his teammates, slapped his shoulder once he finished strapping on his leather seeker's armour and fingerless gloves.

"Nervous?" Pucey asked casually.

The dark haired boy bent to lace up his boots over his jodhpurs.

Harry gave a tight nod.

"No one else will say it, but they were all nervous for their first game," Pucey whispered. "They had a better reason to be than you, though. I've seen a lot of people fly, but I've never seen anyone with more natural talent for a broom than you."

Harry shrugged into his robe and shot the older boy a grateful look as their other teammates picked up their brooms to queue before the pitch doors.

"When we win this, there'll be a gallon of Firewhiskey in it for you," Flint grunted.

The double doors swung open, and a thousand spectators, the staff, and a fair few parents, _Prophet_ reporters, and talent scouts, roared. For the Wizarding public, Hogwarts was the largest and most prestigious school in the UK, so nearly every parent out there got a little fanatical if their kids made the team. For the upper year students aspiring toward professional careers in Quidditch, these school matches were their only opportunity to showcase their talents.

Flint, as a fifth-year with unimpressive marks and less impressive looks despite his highly admired pedigree, desperately desired that sort of attention. Even if he found a good position in the Ministry through his family's connections, he would not rise far in the political or social strata with his brains. At least not without shelling out a _lot_ of money. He was cunning enough to know that, and so sought to catch the eye of the professional leagues in an effort to not fall behind his elder brothers.

These desires led him to a sort of conundrum when it came to his new seeker. On one hand, Potter's natural ability would make Slytherin nigh unbeatable when combined with their rather aggressive playing strategies and Harry's new Nimbus Mach 2; on the other hand, he had the potential to _outshine_ nearly any other player, Markus Flint included. _That_ would have been unacceptable if Harry were any older and, therefore, immediate competition for the scouts' attentions. Still, the slight possibility of Potter wrecking his chances at a contract hardened him toward Slytherin's youngest player, which brought him to turn and glare at the boy again.

"And you, Potter," he snarled. "If you fuck up, you'll wish that troll had got you."

Harry swallowed loudly and willed his knees to stop shaking.

The bright, late morning sunshine momentarily blinded them all. Lee Jordan yelled their names, and before Harry could get his bearings, the magically amplified voice screamed, _"POTTER!"_ and he had to run forward. He kicked off the firm ground to rocket into the sky after his teammates. The Slytherins flew a couple warm-up laps around the pitch in time to Lee Jordan's mostly negative commentating while they waited for Gryffindor's introduction.

"Bletchley, Flint, and Pucey return for yet another season," he said energetically. "Let's hope Pucey's still uncorrupted by the other two or we're in for one hell of a dirty game."

There was a short pause in the commentary as McGonagall scolded the third year Gryffindor for his bias.

"Third year chaser Aadil Shafiq, fourth year beaters Kyle Hooper and Nathaniel Pike, and first year seeker Harry Potter finish up this year's roster," he continued. "Keep your eyes on Potter, folks, because the word is he's a better flier than even Charlie Weasley, Gryffindor legend and record-holder for most snitches caught and shortest matches won."

Harry followed his teammates to hover ten feet above the pitch's centre, where Madam Hooch waited with her whistle in hand one hand, the quaffle in the other, and the trunk containing the snitch and bludgers eagerly wriggling at her feet.

"…And here come the Gryffindors!"

The pitch exploded in cheers. They really hated the Slytherins' reigning hold over the Quidditch and house cups.

"Wood, Spinnet and the lovely Angelina Johnson return for another season. It's a shame she won't accept my humble proposal to date, but hey, I can't blame a gorgeous girl for saying 'no' to a clown like me. I haven't given up, Angelina!"

Another pause in his monologue, in which Harry clearly heard McGonagall threaten detention and suspension of Hogsmeade privileges, temporarily spawned laughter throughout the stands.

"Sorry, professor, sorry. Weasley and Weasley, of course, finish up the old crowd. They're joined by untested second years: chaser Katie Bell and seeker Cormack McLaggen."

The Gryffindors finished out their warm-up and joined their opponents at the middle of the pitch. Flint and Wood faced off while Harry tried not to laugh at Fred and George's identical expressions of mock seriousness. The flutterby bush in his gut had calmed considerably since he kicked off, but now he itched to take off again. Hooch directed the captains in shaking hands – an exercise that seemed more a test of both boys' pain thresholds – put the whistle to her lips, and a moment later, propelled the quaffle high into the air.

Harry shot off as soon as the shrill blast rang across the pitch, flying faster and further than any of the others. He began flying circles and figure eights over the others' heads while the match below got off to a brutal start.

"Pucey passes to Flint! Flint shoots low to Shafiq. Bell intercepts. Flint rushes Bell! Oh, FOUL!"

But Madam Hooch didn't blow her whistle. Flint hadn't actually made contact, even if he had come a hair's bredth from doing so.

"Shafiq scores after Flint nearly knocks Bell off her broom. Ten points to Slytherin. Don't know how Flint wasn't called on that one."

"Gryffindor in possession, now. Bell to Spinnet, Spinnet back to Bell, Johnson takes it up the centre, _excellent_ bludger work by Weasley and Weasley as Pucey moves to intercept! Look out, Bell, Pike's going to-!"

The stands groaned. Hooch called the foul, since Katie Bell hadn't had the quaffle, which Bletchley barely saved. The Gryffindors seemed to rally, though. Their chasers flew in better sync than Flint did with Pucey and Shafiq, who were quite good together. His attempts to lead them in setting up fouls ended poorly, Harry noticed, as neither of them seemed to have any desire in playing a dirty game. Pike and Hooper's poorly aimed hits further worsened the Slytherins' showing. Their bludgers flew everywhere, and Fred and George got so fed up with the chaos – quite the feat, Harry thought, considering who Fred and George were – that they took it upon themselves to decommission the Slytherin beaters.

The Gryffindor score climbed to one hundred and thirty. Harry looked more and more frantically for the elusive golden snitch as he flew above the pitch. McLaggen had chosen to search from below while taking short intermissions to fly loops around the Slytherin goal posts. His decision had the dual purpose of distracting his keeper, which caused Wood to miss a few saves he would have otherwise landed without issue. Even with that small grace, however, Harry could feel every pair of Slytherin eyes glaring daggers at him from below.

Finally he saw it: a flash of gold fluttered mere feet above the ground near the base of the Hufflepuff stands.

Harry urged his broom into a wild dive. A few people screamed. The ground grew closer and closer. He idly heard Lee's commentary turn from the game to follow his reckless descent.

"And it looks like Potter's attempting suicide by swan dive!"

At the last moment, Harry shifted his weight toward the broom's tail, pushing down with all his might, to pull smoothly out of the dive–

The broom would not obey.

Harry's mouth tasted of iron.

His stomach jumped into his throat as the blades of grass became distinguishable from one another. Harry pulled desperately on the broom with all his physical and magical might. He clamped his eyes shut. People were screaming all over the stands. This was going to hurt quite a lot if he didn't pass out. Just as he should have crashed, however, the broom jerked upwards in a dizzying spiral. Harry barely held on. It twisted, flipped, dropped and rose erratically while he clung on for dear life. Some of the spectators had begun laughing.

"Now that's an interesting move!" Lee huffed as Harry held like a sloth to his suddenly rolling broom.

He felt his stomach acid roiling as the broom continued its attempts to buck him. Flint, however, seemed to be enjoying the unexpected distraction. Before the Gryffindors could get back to playing, he scored six consecutive goals to bring them up to seventy points. Lee didn't call it, but the scoreboard, which was magically tied to the goal posts, still counted it.

Play hesitantly resumed, but more sedately on the side of the Gryffindors as Fred and George took to flying below and a little behind Harry in case he should fall. Harry felt extremely grateful for that, because Pucey and Shafiq, the only players who might have cared on Harry's team, seemed to trust the professors to do something if he _did_ manage to fall off, and were focused again on the game.

In the stands, Hermione, Daphne and Neville watched in horror as Harry's broom tried, again, to drive him into the ground two hundred feet below. As before, it stopped before it could mash him into a pancake and danced off in another direction, jerking and rolling and twitching all the way, until Harry looked like a speck clinging on for dear life far above their heads.

"What's happening?" Neville squeaked.

Hermione clung to his hand, cutting off the circulation in his fingers as she scanned the crowd.

"I don't know! I can't see!"

"Someone's jinxing his broom!" Daphne hissed.

"I know that!" Hermione snapped. "I can't tell who, though!"

"Muggleborns! You're all useless!" a voice snarled.

They turned to find Draco Malfoy commandeering a pair of omnioculars from a bloodied Ravenclaw, who was otherwise engaged by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy lifted the device to his face and stared for a moment

"It's Quirrel! I think Snape's holding him off! Neither is breaking eye contact-"

"That's ridiculous," Hermione shrieked. "Why would Quirrel do that to Harry? Are you sure it's not one of the visiting-"

Daphne cut her off.

"Does it matter? We need to cause a distraction so _whoever_ it is stops! We can't guarantee who it is so we have to make _everyone_ look away."

Hermione looked like she could have bitten the statuesque brunette, had she any less self-control. Neville stepped between them.

"What do we do?" he begged urgently.

Malfoy cast a wild glance at all the stands reserved for adult spectators and staff. Most of them were staring as Harry tried to hold on.

"Leave it to me," Hermione said, following the boy's gaze.

Before anyone could stop her, Hermione disappeared. Above them, Harry's broom had changed tactics and flipped tail-up to spin like a top. Harry began to slide forward. The broom jerked hard. His legs flipped over his arms into open air. His shoulders jerked painfully, and he clung with only his hands gripping handle. He hung suspended over the pitch while the broom climbed even higher. Fred and George had stopped playing again, along with the Gryffindor chasers, Pucey, and Shafiq, to fly in circles beneath him.

"Come on, Granger," Daphne muttered.

Neville had begun a similar chant at her elbow while they kept their anxious vigil of the adults' stands. The Nimbus Mach 2 jerked upwards on one end to break free of Harry's left. He clung by the tips of his remaining fingers and silently prayed he would see his parents and sister again. He was fairly certain he wouldn't bounce, and he wasn't sure if his teammates would catch him without falling, themselves.

Hermione took less than thirty seconds to climb beneath the risers in the adults' stands. Their robes hung around their ankles, making easy targets for her purposes. She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and whipped out her wand just as more gasps and screams sounded above her and her heart jumped into her throat.

"_Bléfior Ignis!"_

A stream of bluebell flames erupted from her wand to cling to the robes of nearly every person seated in the centre of the stand. She heard the shouts of alarm above her and wisely took her cue to leave. Hermione stared as she emerged on a catwalk, her eyes fixed in terror and her neck craning to see the drama unfolding above her.

He was falling, diving again from a height of over five hundred feet. He flattened himself to his broom, and to the spectators, he and it a blurred into a streak silver and green. The spectators screamed. Hermione's fingers clenched into fists around the weatherworn railing. A hush fell over the crowd.

Across the pitch, her friends held their breath.

"Neville, you can look," Daphne crowed.

The pudgy boy peaked carefully through his fingers as the crowd's noise, a buzz which grew into an incredulous cheer, rocked the stands.

Harry stood on the pitch, grass-stained but unharmed, with the snitch held above his head.

"I can't believe it!" Lee bellowed. "Slytherin turns the game around with two hundred and twenty points to one hundred and seventy. What a match!"

Hermione screamed her appreciation with the rest of them as the lowest level of the stands quickly filled with spectators rushing to the field. Harry's team and housemates lifted him above their shoulders to carry him off the pitch to the locker rooms. Hermione met Daphne and Neville on their way down to linger at the edges of the cheering fray. The Slytherin among them had been disinclined to participate in such an indecorous display as the rest of her house.

"Good job," she sniffed once Hermione rejoined them. "Whatever you did, half of them fell over the other half, and whoever it was couldn't keep up the jinx."

"Thank you," Hermione said graciously. "And you were right about the scope. Aiming at more of them saved a lot of time."

"You're _both_ brilliant and you'd make wonderful friends if you could get over yourselves," Neville laughed. "Ow!"

Both girls had punched him in either arm. He pouted. Daphne finally sighed and looped an arm through one of his. Hermione slipped one around his waist.

"We love you too, Neville," she giggled.

"I wouldn't go that far," Daphne corrected. "But I _am, _to my utter surprise, fond."

The boy blushed.

...

Draco Malfoy rapped hard on Professor Snape's office door. Shadows interrupted the light filtering beneath it for a moment, and the heavy oak portal swung open to frame a decidedly unhappy potions master.

"Mr Malfoy," he said shortly. "May I help you with something?"

The boy, who had spent hours debating the necessity of this meeting, nodded once.

"In confidence, please, Professor. It's very important."

Snape's eyes narrowed and swept the corridor beyond his sanctum. He pulled the door wider and Draco accepted the silent invitation to step past the dour educator and into the office. The room glowed uncharacteristically bright. Every lamp, lantern and candle had been magically intensified to fill the space with pale yellow light. Harry Potter's broom lay across Snape's desk, bathed in a bluish haze. Draco stared for a moment, but did not think it worth the professor's ire to ask.

"What was so important?" the potions master snapped as the silence stretched on.

The blonde boy stiffened and looked away from his head-of-house's penetrating glare.

"Sir, may I speak to you as my godfather?" he asked quietly.

The professor searched the child's pinched face and loosed a long sigh. A wave of his wand dimmed the lights and dispelled the blue field. Another conjured a pair of comfortable armchairs by his fireplace, and his gaze softened significantly.

"What is it, Draco?" Snape asked more gently as he took one of the chairs.

The boy took the one opposite, and when he spoke, he spoke to his knees.

"At the match, Sir, Miss Greengrass and I noticed something was wrong. I had a pair of omnioculars, sir, and I remember my tutors describing the process of jinxing a thing, and I thought-"

"Yes?" Snape prompted evenly.

"It looked like someone was doing their best to kill Potter," Malfoy finished quietly.

The professor appraised his student as he shifted his weight in the chair and continued to look at knees rather than him.

"You would do well to keep such opinions to yourself," he softly advised. "No doubt Lucius has told you the dangers associated with certain knowledge and views."

Malfoy looked up sharply. He understood the warning for what it was, and his face smoothed, though it did not regain any colour.

From there, the conversation turned for a while to mundane things: Draco's marks in his classes, his opinion of current events, pleasantries related to his health. Both, however, were tired and worn thin from the day's dramas, so when the professor finally said:

"I have to finish my inspection of Mr Potter's broomstick."

Draco was quick to grab onto the dismissal.

"Thank you, Godfather."

The office door closed quietly behind him, but Draco lingered in the corridor for several moments with his toes pointed toward the common room.

Before he could change his mind, he went back up the stairs and through the great entrance hall doors. Sticking to the shadows and racing the setting sun, Draco crossed the grounds, cutting across courtyards and lawns, until he came to the lone spire standing at the top of a cliff overlooking the Black Lake. The owlery stood empty of other human visitors at this hour of the evening. Most students were either at dinner or in their common rooms, already. He had only fifteen minutes until the great hall's doors locked, so Draco worked quickly. His handsome eagle owl flew down to the lonely writing desk at the centre of the room as he pulled parchment and quill from his school bag. He jotted the note hastily, rolled it up, and tied it with a bit of twine plucked from the floor, probably leftover from someone's parcel.

"Take this to Harry Potter's parents," he commanded.

The owl gently nipped Draco's finger and swooped up and out of the tower, leaving his master to wonder at the state of his ever more confusing life.


	10. The Stuff of Nonsense & Nightmares

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

**January 17, 2016 A/N: So remember when I said I wouldn't be changing major things? I realized ******That was a bit of a fib **halfway through editing this chapter. The story still ends up in the same place, so it isn't absolutely _necessary_ to note the differences, but they are _significant_ to character development. Sorry if that disappoints anyone, but for the most part, I think this makes a lot more sense to how I wanted this book to develop, and I hope you will enjoy them, too.  
**

* * *

Chapter Ten: The Stuff of Nonsense and Nightmares

* * *

**19 November 2012**

_Dear Jemmy,_

_We heard something really disturbing on the radio the other day, after which we got a very worrisome letter from a concerned friend of yours. _

_As soon as you're able, we expect you to explain yourself. And remember, we have your timetable and an alarm set to the telly, so don't you dare procrastinate or you'll never fly again._

_We have other news to discuss, as well, and we would like to know more about the boulder incident. If you're able and can trust the others, bring them with you, too._

_We love you. Please don't get killed in that crazy sport._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

_..._

Harry glared around at his friends, who had waved him over to the Hufflepuff table as soon as he'd entered the great hall for breakfast that morning, and stuffed a forkful of eggs into his mouth. Across from him, Hermione slowly navigated her spoon around the book she had propped against the table, dipped the spoon into her porridge, blindly brought it back to her lips, and flipped the page with her other hand, all without looking up from what she was reading. Next to her, Neville kept glancing at his rememberall between bites of bacon. It leaned innocently against a salt mill, swirling with deep scarlet smoke.

They didn't seem to be carrying a guilty conscience for ratting him out to his mum and dad, but he'd also never seen them in a situation where they needed to act or lie by omission.

"All right," he huffed. "Hermione, did you write my mum?"

The words took a moment to register through whatever she was reading, and when they did, she was not pleased. Her sharp, light brown eyes met his gaze as she snapped the tome shut, and her lips pursed over her slightly overlarge teeth. Her dark hair seemed to frizz out even wilder around her face, and Harry distinctly tasted ozone in the air.

"No, Harry, I didn't," she said warningly. "Are you trying to _accuse_ me of something?"

Harry frowned and looked to Neville, who had stopped contemplating his rememberall to watch the byplay between his friends.

"Well, Neville, did you?"

"No," he said softly. "I thought you'd tell your parents yourself."

Hermione's cinnamon-coloured freckles scrunched over her nose and cheeks as she glared at him.

"Do you mean to tell me you haven't said anything to your mum and dad?" she demanded. "Harry!"

The Slytherin groaned and let his head slump to the table, between his half-drunk glass of juice and abandoned breakfast.

"They're going to kill me," he muttered.

"Someone _already_ tried to kill you," Hermione hissed. "And they almost did, too. Why did you want to hide it from your parents?"

She looked to Neville for support. He obligingly slid a little closer and dropped his voice.

"Yeah," he added. "I thought you said they could fix just about anything."

Harry's forehead thumped once against the table linen.

"Yes," he admitted. "But we fixed it, right? And all we did was worry them. What if Jen had read the note instead of them?"

The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff frowned at one another in clear confusion.

"What note?" Neville mumbled.

"Harry, I'm disappointed you think we'd go behind your back," Hermione added. "Honestly, we thought you'd already told them."

"I'm still not sure why you'd hide it. You didn't do anything wrong, so why would they be upset with you?" Neville asked bewilderedly. "That makes no sense at all."

Harry frowned, mulling over his words for a moment, and sat up abruptly. He narrowed his eyes as he looked between the two of them and the head table, and then back at his friends.

"Come on," he said shortly. "Quick."

To his supreme relief, neither Neville nor Hermione questioned the curt command and followed him from the great hall. Some of Hermione's housemates looked after them in confusion, but no one tried to stop them from leaving. A few times, either Hermione or Neville would try to ask after his reasoning as Harry led them up the main staircase floor after floor, but he shook his head and nodded to the portraits who watched them pass. When they realised where he was headed, they stopped trying to ask at all, and soon Harry paced outside the hidden room.

A moment later, and the door swung open to admit the three children to the tree house's interior.

"What's all this about?" Hermione frowned, concernedly watching Harry pace around the yellow-swirled rug.

"Why didn't I want to tell mum and dad?" Harry demanded, his green eyes a little wild.

Neville and Hermione stared.

"Mate, I don't know what you're on about," Neville said worriedly. "Catch us up to your train of thought, because I've _no_ idea where you are right now."

Harry made a frustrated sound and fisted his mussed hair in his right hand.

"Why didn't I want to tell mum and dad?" he asked again. "You said it yourself, Nev. That makes no sense. That's absolutely contrary to what I'd normally do, right? I mean, I even told them about helping Pomfrey fight the troll, and I _definitely_ had some culpability there."

"Oooohh!" Hermione breathed. "Oh!"

"Yeah!"

"I'm still not following," the Gryffindor moaned.

"Mind altering charms," the Hufflepuff whispered. "Oh, Harry! Someone was trying to kill you, and _you didn't want to tell_. It's got to be a compulsion. Maybe the same person who did it-"

"Was trying to give themselves time to make another opportunity," he concluded.

"Bloody hell," Neville whispered.

The others turned to him and he immediately blushed. Neither had heard him use rude language before. Hermione didn't even reprimand him.

"Right," Harry continued, glancing at his watch. "We've only got a few minutes till class starts, but after lunch, let's come back up here so we can talk to my dad."

Hermione nodded eagerly.

"Thank you," the Slytherin said emphatically. "And watch me, okay? If I do anything else out of the ordinary, you should alert me and tell dad when we talk, next."

…

Harry and Neville barely made it on time for their potions, and everyone looked back at them from their seats when they ran into the room, breathing hard (on Harry's part) and wheezing (on Neville's). At Profesor Snape's warning glance, they separated to their respective halves of the classroom.

But, while Neville claimed his usual seat beside Dean Thomas, Harry found his usual table occupied by none other than Draco Malfoy. He found Daphne sitting in the next table over, and she gave him a subtle twitch of her brow to indicate her interest in the change, as well.

"Now that we're all here," Snape drawled at the front of the class. "Turn to page one hundred and fifty-six to refresh yourselves on the rendering and preparation methods for unripened nightshade berries. You will then begin preparing said berries for acid slug repellent. As a reminder-"

He paused the sweep a cruel smirk across the room and to make eye contact with his weakest students.

"Keep your hands away from your orifices until you have cleaned up, or you shall find yourself waking up under Madam Pomfrey's tender mercies with a throat full of charcoal and several ruptured organs."

He smiled unpleasantly.

Several of the students shuddered.

Harry wisely turned to his text, and Malfoy did the same on the other side of his potions kit, which lay neatly on the table in its wooden carry case. He skimmed the chapter in silence, and as soon as he felt sure he could recall it all perfectly, closed the book, donned a pair of vinyl gloves from his bag of holding, and began to carefully harvest deeply purple berries from the heavily-laden plant set at the head of their table.

"What is that you're wearing, Potter?"

Harry glanced at Malfoy, whose question bore none of his usual sneer.

"Vinyl gloves," he whispered, so as not to disturb his classmates, many of whom were still reading. "Wizless potion-makers wear them to keep from contaminating ingredients with the oils on their skin, and also to avoid accidentally poisoning themselves if they're handling something harmful."

"I see," the blonde hummed. "Sort of like an impervious charm, then?"

He paused as he plucked another berry from its little green cap.

"Yeah, actually," he agreed, a little surprised at the comparison. "Exactly like that."

Malfoy went back to reviewing the entry, and Harry continued gathering the raw materials for making essence of nightshade. When his brass scales read nine ounces, he abandoned the leafy plant and dumped the lot into his small pewter cauldron. Without removing the vinyl ones, he pulled a dragonhide glove onto his left hand, tilted the cauldron in its stand, stabilised it with the gloved hand, and cast an overpowered warming charm at the metal vessel.

He barely felt its heat through the glove as he directed his pestle to begin methodically grinding up the nightshade berries within.

"Mr Potter."

Harry almost jumped at the cool voice over his shoulder. He looked up at Snape, who eyed his cauldron and the animated pestle with an unreadable expression.

"Explain."

He paused, and felt Draco still beside him, too.

"The berries lose potency the longer they're exposed to air, covering them with water makes it harder to grind up the seeds properly, and I don't know the bubble-head charm yet," he rattled off in one breath. "I wanted to preserve as much of the juice as possible, so I skipped the mortar in favour of the cauldron, so I wouldn't lose any in a transfer. It also saves on some of the time they're in open air."

The sound of turning pages and and the movement of his classmates' tools came to a stop as they waited for Snape's verdict. The Slytherins seemed particularly disturbed by the exchange.

"And the heating charm?"

"I thought it would keep the liquefied troll fat from curdling as it would if it hit a cooler surface, and I also wanted to begin cooking the juices a bit," he offered. "Since I'm already starting on the rendering part, I thought it'd help to keep the resulting essence as concentrated as possible and also decrease overall brewing time."

"I see," the potions master murmured. "And are you _sure_ of those results, or were you acting on a hunch?"

Harry deliberated as the professor's black eyes bored into his face.

"I made an educated guess," he finally answered after several beats of silence. "My hypothesis was based on the methodology and theory described in _Brewer's Biblia: A Complete Foundation to Beginners' Potionmaking._"

"Indeed."

The professor walked on, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The class went back to brewing, and Malfoy glanced at him often over his own work while Harry continuously watched his pestle's work, until the contents of his cauldron resembled slimy, homogenised blueberry jelly. The rest of the lesson passed without further drama aside from the instructor's usual nitpicking of the Gryffindor side. Well before the end of their brewing time, Harry had a squat bottle of inky nightshade essence that several shades darker and far more viscous than any of his peers. He brought the bottle to Professor Snape as soon as he called for them to wash up.

The potions master held his lumos-lit wand to the glass to better observe its contents and raised a dark, greasy-looking brow.

"In the future, Mr Potter, you shall consult me before deviating from the approved instructions in your manual or those I provide," he said without room for argument. "Nonetheless…"

He glanced over Harry's shoulder, and from his expression and the tingling sensation running the length of his spine, he concluded the professor's carrying voice had captured his classmates' attention.

"I award you five points for your intuition."

It was all he could do not to grin like a maniac. Despite the Professor's tacit approval of him, he had _never_ awarded Harry points. He returned to his seat a little bouncier for his efforts, and Malfoy looked at him strangely until the bells' toll signalled the class's conclusion.

…

To his surprise, Malfoy again took the seat beside his when they arrived in Magical Theory, where Professor Babbling, who also taught Ancient Runes, strolled to the head of the room and picked up her continued efforts to make sense of an illogical and mystical approach to what Harry now understood as applied physics and chemistry.

"In transfiguration, we learn that one thing can be changed, through the exertion of magic and intent, to another thing. But we also know that by Gamp's Law we cannot _transfigure_ a thing without a base material from which to work."

"And that's a convoluted way of putting conservation of mass," Harry muttered as he made a note in his thick notebook.

Malfoy ignored the comment and made his own note on a scroll of parchment, which he kept in place at the top of his desk with a crystal inkpot, and weighed down the other with a handsome marble bar made specifically for that purpose.

"How, therefore, do we manage conjuration, otherwise known as the advanced transfiguration you shall encounter in third year and on?"

Harry could imagine Hermione's hand shooting into the air. As they shared the class with Ravenclaw, however, the first to speak was Stephen Cornfoot.

"We manipulate the ambient magic in the air and shape things out of it. That's why conjured objects don't last as long as transfigured things; because we have to make the magic hold its shape with our own cores."

Harry rolled his eyes. That was only partly right, based on his and his dad's experimentation and research.

"Correct. Two points to Ravenclaw."

"She's wrong, you know," Harry said in an aside to Malfoy, since Hermione was unavailable to entertain his complaints about Wizard-logic, and also to amuse himself with the other boy's confusion.

Malfoy's quill stopped its fluid trek over the parchment below, which Harry interpreted as grudging interest.

"We tested it over the summer," he whispered. "Conjuration is the transfiguration of _air_. The little particles that make air _air _are rearranged and compressed to create the thing we 'conjure.' Again, conservation of mass."

"What?" Draco muttered blankly.

Harry looked at the boy apparently determined to upset his usual seating arrangements and expelled an exasperated huff.

"None of that 'what' nonsense," he complained. "I currently hold exclusive rights to being confused."

The scraping of chairs and closing of books alerted him to a change in the class's activities, and Harry, after a quick glance at professor Babbling and the slate, took out his wand to begin conducting some of the trials specified by Hesper Gamp's experiments, which later went on to prove the exceptions to transfiguration. He made his first pointless attempt at conjuring a cherry to no effect and directed a glare at his partner.

"I'm unsure what you're referring to, Potter," Malfoy quipped with a slight twitch of his aristocratic brow. "I could explain Gamp's law to you, but it seems you have a better understanding of it than I do."

His dark-haired counterpart scowled.

"No, not that," he specified. "You haven't said a word to me since the day I implied you fancied me."

Draco's elbow, which he'd propped on the desk to support his leaning head while his wand hand performed their assignment, slid off, and the blonde barely caught himself in time to avoid hitting the desk's edge with his chin. His ears suffused with pink.

"So what changed?" Harry pressed. "I was under the impression you _didn't _like me."

"Will you keep your voice down?" Malfoy hissed, casting his grey eyes around the room.

No one had been paying attention to their conversation with so much practical magic distracting them. Harry sighed loudly and waited for the other boy to come to the same realisation.

"If you must know," the blonde finally whispered. "I've been observing you since you so deftly outmanoeuvred my attempts to either influence or embarrass you. _You're_ not what my father coached me to expect."

Harry's brain hurt.

"And?" he prompted impatiently.

"I'm begrudgingly impressed and very confused," Malfoy admitted under his breath.

Somehow, he still managed to keep his brow smooth and features unruffled. To the casual observer, they probably seemed to be discussing the weather, or perhaps the recent Quidditch game.

"On top of that, you have me questioning beliefs I've held since I was old enough to understand what the word meant," he snapped. "So _forgive_ me if I'm behaving oddly."

"Oh," Harry breathed.

Malfoy's answer was nowhere _near_ what he had expected of the privileged, connected, hopelessly spoiled aristocrat.

"You're having an existential crisis," he concluded.

Draco sat up straighter, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a wry grimace as he mulled over the unfamiliar terminology.

"Yes."

Harry would have laughed, but thought that might be unkind. His restraint did not, however, ruin his amusement at the situation.

"So what specifically has you questioning the inner teachings of the Malfoy way?" Harry asked with a smirk.

Malfoy gave a try at turning a button into a beetle, which worked at first glance, but could not replicate the beetle's automation or behaviour without charming it to move. Harry performed the corresponding experiment by turning a live water beetle into a button in the same shade of shimmering green. A few moments later, he cancelled the spell and the insect went back to walking around its jar in frantic circles. He wondered idly what inroads the Doctor could make toward Wizardry's understanding of the universe if only he had the opportunity. He felt sure this class, at least, could be vastly improved.

"Nearly everything that comes out of your mouth mucks up my head," the blonde eventually answered. "What I've seen from your interactions with that mu-uh- Muggleborn Granger and that Longbottom fellow, too- And then there's _you_."

Harry performed another transfiguration while he waited for Draco to gather his thoughts and continue.

"You're a half-blood," he whispered. "And Granger's the first witch in her family as far as anyone knows, not to mention her mixed heritage. According to Magical Inheritance Theory, she should be toward the bottom of the class for all those reasons, and you shouldn't surpass the middle ground, and yet you two cleanly top everyone else in _all _our classes."

"Except flying," Harry admitted. "I don't take it, and Hermione's pants on a broom."

Draco scowled at him.

"She's afraid of heights, according to Terry Boot," he snapped. "Don't mess me about, Potter. I'm stretched thin enough as is."

Harry had the grace to affect an apologetic air, and Malfoy took the opportunity to gather his thoughts again and breathe around his apparent frustration.

"In any case," he continued. "I looked at the rest of Slytherin's first years. As useful as Crabbe and Goyle are to me, they're more physical brawn than magical might, and their marks prove as much. I also consulted the Hogwarts Book of Student Records, picked out all the names I wasn't familiar with, and found their scores were evenly spread all over the board rather than clustered on the low end. I even compared them as a whole to the names I know from Pureblood and Half-blood lineage, and muggleborns consistently performed _better_ overall than their peers."

"All right," Harry acknowledged slowly, carefully keeping the surprise out of his voice.

He never took Malfoy for a researcher or much of a thinker, in general, despite the cleverness he knew he possessed somewhere under all the sleek blonde hair. Harry always assumed the boy was a bit on the lazy side.

"I can see how that might shake you," he acknowledged.

The other boy's glower deepened.

"It's not just that," he hissed urgently. "When I tallied those numbers, I was obviously alarmed, but that got me thinking about why the Dark Lord's following espoused the idea that the dilution of magical blood was weakening Wizardkind."

Comprehension dawned on Harry's face, and Malfoy's face turned grim.

"You found the Prewett Manifesto," he murmured.

Malfoy's slight twitch was all the confirmation he needed.

The document to which Malfoy alluded had come about in response to Voldemort's recruitment propaganda, and ultimately turned the tide in the Ministry's involvement with the conflict. It was the most logical bit of material the Tylers and Harry read prior to his arrival at Hogwarts. In it, Fabian and Gideon Prewett detailed a survey of the last five hundred years of magical students' academic performance by demographic; magical birth and death rates; population fluctuation; and all major magical advancements made and by whom.

Their Manifesto, which they presented after walking the reader through their conclusions, called for Wizardkind to take responsibility for its failings by immediately shedding its illogical attachment to tradition for the sake of tradition. It called the popular opinion an 'attempt to make a scapegoat of their ills' potential cure'. In short, it was the antitheses to everything Purists held as true and irrefutable Fact.

Fabian and Gideon Prewett did not survive long after they printed their slim pamphlet with its revolutionary findings. Prewett Press, the only competitor to the British Magical News Alliance, which owned the _Daily Prophet_ along with several other media outlets, burned to the ground, and hardly anyone read it. The Doctor had only located it due to his hastily acquired position in the Ministry's Department of Records.

"I also checked the census information conducted at the millennia," Draco mumbled dejectedly. "Of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, not even a _third_ still have heirs left to carry on their names. If they did, it was rare for a family to claim more than one_ if_ said heir didn't end up in Azkaban or a grave by the end of the war. Compared to muggleborns, whose population has been growing steadily since You-Know-Who's fall, Pureblood numbers are dying out. The greatest decline in our demographic directly correlates with both Grindewald and the Dark Lord's wars."

The boys sat quietly for several minutes. Harry felt content to let Malfoy stew in his thoughts and recover from revelations clearly devastating to his psyche, and Draco appreciated the gesture. The former had moved on to replicating a slice of cheesecake, which he thought might be the process of replicating DNA of the once-living cheesecake ingredients while simultaneously cooking and rearranging them into a second, identical confection. He would need to consult with the Doctor to explore the notion further. He had a Time Lock and chronon containment field from which they might be able to deconstruct the process an observable level.

Draco wrote down a few of his observations in the worksheet Professor Babbling had provided and expelled a long sigh.

"Anyway," the boy finally muttered. "I've decided I don't hate you, or Granger, or the rest of the people I thought I should, and that makes it difficult for me to hold the mask around Theo and the others. That's why I'm sitting by you. I'm letting the others draw their own conclusions as to why, though."

Harry made a small whine of complaint.

"I_ hate_ house politics," he muttered. "Why can't we all just be friends and leave it at that?"

The blonde's serious expression gave way to amused incredulity.

"Why _are_ you in Slytherin if you don't enjoy the game?"

Harry gave him a look.

"If I told you, I wouldn't be much of a Slytherin, would I?"

Draco shook his head and laughed. Harry caught Daphne staring at them curiously without giving any of her thoughts or opinions away.

He frowned. He _really_ needed to find some spells on perfecting his poker face.

…

The lunch bells echoed gaily across the grounds, and Harry felt all too relieved fill his belly with something sweet to help him process his decidedly odd day. Daphne joined he and Draco on their way to the great hall, and easily struck up coolly pleasant, light conversation with her least favourite housemate. Blaise and Tracey, however, hung back to observe them with varying expressions of confusion and distrust.

As usual, upon entering the hall Harry sought out Hermione and Neville, who had again chosen Hufflepuff table for the house's general amicability in the face of visiting non-'Puffs. Harry made a beeline toward them and sat across from his friends with a weary sort of smile.

They stared.

Harry frowned and turned to see Daphne and Draco standing hesitantly behind him. Daphne looked between Harry and Hermione and slid gracefully into the seat adjacent to him. The nearest Hufflepuff on the same bench gave her a surprised look, but made no comment about the addition.

"Malfoy," Hermione said politely when he continued standing there. "Er-"

Harry gave a sigh and a shrug at her questioning glance. Before she could continue the invitation, however, another finished it.

"Would you like to join us, Malfoy?" Neville asked softly.

"Um," Draco searched the head table as he deliberated, where Professor Snape watched his godson surreptitiously from the corner of his eye.

If he were not so attuned to his godfather's body language, Draco would have missed the minute dip of his head as he lifted his goblet for a drink.

"Yeah," he said, watching the others' reactions. "I would, actually. Thank you, Longbottom."

Harry wanted to groan at the awkwardness, but they had business to attend to.

"So," he breathed after they had loaded their plates with food. "As to the person trying to kill me-"

"You know?" Draco hissed.

Hermione shot a suspicious look at him.

"You're the one that owled his parents, aren't you?" she accused. "You helped us the other day, too."

Harry blinked and took a bite of his turkey and watercress sandwich.

"Thanks for that," he said after swallowing, halting the potential argument he heard in Hermione's voice. "Anyway, does anyone have any theories?"

"Quirrel."

Hermione and Harry would have laughed except for the absolute seriousness of the simultaneous answer uttered by all three Wizard-raised kids in their group.

"He's the defence professor," Neville offered when they turned to him for an explanation. "The position's cursed. There's always an article in the paper about how the professor dies in a horrible accident, forcibly resigns, gets sacked because they _caused_ a horrible accident involving a student, or caused some scandal…"

"They never last more than a year," Daphne confirmed when the shy boy trailed off. "If anything goes wrong, the Defence professor is always at the top of the suspect list."

Draco nodded emphatically.

"And I saw him through my omnioculars-"

"You _stole_ those from Marcus Belby," Hermione said indignantly.

"_Yes_, Granger," Malfoy huffed. "At which point, they became mine. Which they wouldn't have done had he just lent them to me like I asked."

Harry cleared his throat. Hermione crossed her arms across her chest but allowed Draco to continue.

"I saw both him and Professor Snape staring at you and chanting something non-stop. They didn't even look like they were pausing to breathe, and they weren't blinking," he hissed. "I know Professor Snape was trying to help you, but Quirrel had no reason whatsoever to be doing that. And how could he keep up the spellwork that long without stuttering if he were the bumbling idiot he pretends to be?"

Daphne nodded approvingly at his logic. Neville looked a little sick, but gave a sign of his agreement, too. Hermione appeared to remain stubbornly against the idea.

"No," Harry said finally. "What you _saw_ was two of many professors and others watching me and moving their mouths while doing it. That applies to almost everyone who saw what my broom was doing. I, for one, wouldn't blink if I was watching a kid flop around in the air, wondering if he was going to fall hundreds of feet to the ground _a la_ fleshy pancake."

The green tinge to Neville's cheeks intensified, and he felt a little badly for causing it.

"We don't have enough information to say for sure," he amended. "Unless you know something else?"

Draco cast his glance around the room, lingering on the curious expressions worn by some of the nearest Hufflepuffs and not a few Gryffindor first years sitting at the adjacent table.

"We should talk elsewhere," he said smoothly. "But yes, I do."

With that tantalising prospect, the children went back to their food. Daphne made an effort at light small talk with Neville and Hermione, which Draco sometimes joined in on while Harry silently observed. By silent and mutual consensus to those in the know, they decided to wait until after their third classes to return to the seventh floor corridor, since it seemed two others would likely join them. Given their own reaction to the room, they assumed the two Slytherins may need a little more time to adjust than what little remained of their allotted lunch time.

Fifteen minutes before the end-of-lunch bells, Neville rose to join the tide of first-year Gryffs and Claws making their way to the greenhouses. A few minutes later, Harry rose to lead his odd group of companions up to the second floor classroom labelled _3C_.

As always, the defence classroom smelled strongly of garlic, and the air tasted horribly bitter on Harry's tongue. He and Draco took the table at the very back of the room nearest the windows, which were sometimes left open by either a very thoughtful elf or precocious student. Either way, the improved circulation made sitting in the room slightly more bearable. Daphne and Hermione took the desk in front of theirs and dutifully pulled out their textbooks and notes from the previous lesson.

Quirrel did _not_ do practical lessons.

The turbaned instructor himself entered the room from his office at the top of a short flight of stairs.

"G-G-Good A-A-Afternoon, class," he said nervously, as was his habit once the bell rang.

Draco shifted anxiously by his side.

"T-T-To-Today we will di-di-discuss the proper way t-t-to…"

Harry promptly tuned out, opting instead to doodle in his notebook and massage his forehead with the hand upon which it rested.

After an hour and a half of yet another Quirrel special – a stuttering, long-winded, headache inducing quote-along entirely from their first-year defence text – Harry led Daphne, Draco and Hermione up the staircase to the seventh floor. Barnabus the Barmy, forever doomed to pirouetting before tutu-clad trolls who seemed to have more interest in banging their clubs on the ground than dancing, turned to sigh at them as they approached the bare stretch of wall.

"Why are we staring at a wall?" Draco frowned as he caught his breath from climbing all those stairs. "It's another corridor just like all the rest, if you don't count its frustrating altitude."

Daphne sniffed.

"It doesn't suit a boy of your breeding to complain of something so trivial as exercise," she remarked. "What happened to your noble stoicism?"

Hermione's lips twitched like she wanted to smile.

Harry sighed and opened the door he'd been contemplating for the last several moments. Draco looked like he was getting ready to shed his newfound tolerance after so trying a morning.

"I realise you have some very confusing and exhausting emotions to work out," he directed at Malfoy before the boy could retort. "But now isn't the time. We need to finish our earlier conversation."

The two looked on in bewilderment as Harry opened a door that hadn't existed mere moments before and held it open for Hermione. He gave them a look after she crossed the threshold, and the two Slytherins quickly entered behind her.

Daphne looked around in surprise at the odd arrangement of the room within. Glass pane windows looked out of the square room onto lush gardens and a large white house. The leafy branches of a tree interrupted their view at intervals and cast dappled patterns of light through the west windows. Fat, irregularly shaped cushions, wider than Daphne or Draco were tall, encircled a plush carpeted floor and a wide, dark mirror hung mounted on the wall across from the entrance. Hermione and Neville were already seated inside with a basket of snacks and a pot of tea.

"What sort of place is this?" Draco sneered. "It looks so…"

Hermione sent him a warning glare, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Mundane," the blonde finished a little lamely.

Daphne attempted to sit primly in one of the beanbags and giggled as its fluid insides forced her to lounge.

"What manner of furniture are these?" she grinned.

"Bean-bag chairs," Neville laughed. "They're great."

"If you say so," Draco harrumphed as he tried and failed to sit with any sort of posture in his. "How did you even find this place?"

"Accident," Hermione answered crisply as she dished out tea and biscuits. "We were making a map."

"I admire you for the effort," Malfoy hummed without an ounce of sarcasm. "This place is labyrinthian at the best of times."

He looked at Harry oddly as the latter rubbed his brow in an attempt to ease away the ache that had intensified over the last couple of hours.

"I just noticed," he remarked. "You always rub around your scar during Quirrel's class. Is it just that boring or should we add this to the list for symptoms decrying our 'professor' as suspect number one?"

Hermione's curls bounced as she whipped her head around to stare hard at Harry with narrowed eyes. He recognized the look as her deep-storage-recall face.

"He's right," she said after a moment. "You _do_ complain about the headaches more after being around Quirrel."

"Which brings us back to my earlier declaration at lunch," Draco said quickly to cut off the protest on Harry's lips. "Do you remember the troll break-in?"

Daphne stiffened, and the boy, who had inadvertently caused her part in the disaster, winced. Neville, Hermione, and Harry felt the weight of horrible awkwardness descend over what they'd come to think of as their sanctum. When it became apparent neither blonde would address the troll-shaped pachyderm, Harry cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we ought the clear the air before continuing," he blandly suggested.

The girl raised an imperious brow at Draco, who had begun examining his shoes.

"I almost killed you, Greengrass," he said after several long seconds. "I didn't know about your father. Mine never told me about what happened to the ones in our circle who didn't get in line. I just assumed they all fled the country when the Dark Lord came recruiting."

He turned to meet Daphne's icy gaze.

"I'm sorry. Not just because Zabini told me what happened to the troll and about your dad, or for saying the things I did."

The boy took a deep breath and looked around at Hermione and Neville, who both appraised him with curiosity and thinly veiled distrust.

"I asked my father about it, after that, and he gave me details about a blood traitor's fate in the Dark Lord's time. Not specific names, or anything – he'd never incriminate himself," Draco spat the words bitterly.

"It was enough that I started re-evaluating my position on things. It occurred to me that when people see my father, they think he did those horrible things and either fear or hate him for it. They see me and assume I'm going to be the same. I did, too. I guess I'm apologizing for being an insufferable prick."

Understanding dawned on Harry as he listened and connected the boy's confession with their earlier discussion in Theory. He patted his housemate on the back when it appeared he had run out of steam.

"You don't have to be," he reassured him. "Besides, why follow a maniac when you can rule on your own?"

The boys shared a grin. Daphne rolled her eyes. Hermione shook her head.

"I'll never understand you Slytherins," Neville laughed.

"Now that the elephant's out of the way," Harry began again to the Purebloods' utter bewilderment at the expression. "What was it you were saying?"

"Oh," Draco looked around at them nervously. "Um, the troll-"

Daphne maintained a mein of polite curiosity, and Draco barreled forward.

"I think Quirrel may have let it in himself," he explained. "I saw him get up in the confusion after the other professors left to go after it. He's so short, even with that turban I don't think anyone else noticed. What bothered me was he didn't have the usual twitchiness about him, especially for a person who supposedly fainted mere minutes before. "

"That is suspicious," Hermione allowed, "But it doesn't prove anything. And if he _did_ let the troll in, what does that have to do with Harry? Why would he try to kill him?"

The blonde boy scrubbed a hand over his hair in frustration and leaned back to hang his head over the ridge of his beanbag.

"I don't know," he muttered. "But I think he's the least trustworthy person on the staff aside from Filch or Hagrid, and his position's got too bad of a track record to dismiss him just because we lack evidence."

"Hagrid's a good person," Neville said with a surprising ring of conviction.

"I don't think Malfoy's referring to the man's character," Daphne said gently. "Nearly everyone knows he can't keep a secret."

"Exactly," Draco agreed. "I mean, he was shouting about to all and sundry about some super-secret mission Dumbledore entrusted him to take care of the day of the Gringotts break-in. You know, the one where nothing was stolen?"

"What?" Harry frowned.

In response to his need, and the other kids' confusion, the room obliged by offering up the relevant _Prophet_ issue, which materialized on the carpet before them with a soft _pop_.

"What _is_ this room?" Daphne demanded.

Harry ignored the question in favour of spreading the front-page article out so all could read it. Draco pointed to the relevant section.

"My father told me the break-in happened shortly after the bank closed for business that day, after Mother and I had already left the alley," he elaborated. "And while we were there, we overheard Hagrid talking about his business with the bank."

At their expectant and curious expressions, he sighed and elaborated further.

"We were having supper in the Leaky Cauldron after we finished our shopping. Hagrid was boasting about special Hogwarts business and how great a man Dumbledore was for giving him the opportunity to help out with something so important."

Neville frowned, clearly unimpressed. Hermione's sceptical expression endured, too, but Daphne had adopted a shrewd look.

"What exactly was said?" Harry prompted. "Tell me everything as closely as you can remember."

Draco reclined in his beanbag with a put-upon sigh.

"Sure, though I'm not sure what all this has to do with anything," he mumbled. "I was just trying to make a point about why you shouldn't trust Quirrel."

The others looked unconvinced, as well, but were used enough to the abrupt and strange workings of Harry's mind that they were happy to oblige him.

"He gave my Mother a rude look and drank half a barrel of fire whiskey," Draco continued when no agreed with his assessment. "Tom asked him about what he was doing in the alley that day and inquired after Hagrid's pumpkins. Apparently he has to start them in May to get them big enough by Halloween. He said 'I'm on official Hogwarts business.' I _think_ he thought he was being discreet, but Mother and I could hear him from the far side of the room."

Neville winced. Harry assumed it was because Malfoy's description was not as exaggerated as the Gryffindor had hoped.

"He said, 'I'm on an errand for Dumbledore. Great man, Albus Dumbledore. Knows he can trust me with anythin'. Needed me ter retrieve a parcel from Gringotts for 'im'" the blonde went on, affecting a heavy cockney accent that made Hermione glare and Neville cringe.

Draco paused for a moment to gauge Harry's face. The subject of his observation continued his mad note-taking in one of the odd books he kept in his bag, so he went back to his story.

"Then he went on to boast about how Dumbledore even entrusted him to pick you up from Godric's Hollow," he finished more sedately. "After that, he said he needed to get back to Hogwarts, paid, and left."

"How big was the parcel?" Harry asked.

Draco made a fist and squinted.

"About that size."

"Hagrid practically put up an advertisement for whatever it was," Daphne said, rubbing her temples. "The thief doesn't find what he's looking for at Gringotts and heard some men at the pub talking about Hagrid's drunken speech. He must have concluded Dumbledore brought it here to keep it safe."

"Why in the world would someone take a thing from a _bank_ and put it in a _school_? That makes absolutely no sense, whatsoever," Hermione said a little desperately. "And where would they put such a thing, in any case?"

"Oh no," Neville moaned.

His face drained of colour, and the others watched him warily as he started twisting and untwisting his serviette. Their tea had long since been abandoned.

"Well…" Neville flushed lightly. "A couple weeks into term, I got locked out of my common room. The Fat Lady had gone visiting-"

"Why does everyone call her that?" Harry interrupted. "It's awfully rude. And she can't be anywhere near as fat as some of the people I've seen from _this_ day and age, and she doesn't sound like a _bad_ portrait so-"

He paused as he assessed the four bemused faces staring back at him.

"Right, go on, Neville. Sorry."

The Gryffindor smiled weakly.

"Anyway, the Bloody Baron and Peeves had gone by a couple of times and I didn't fancy waiting around for Filch," he explained, his blush deepening from a light rose to a full-on red. "So I went for a bit of a walk hoping I'd find somewhere to hide."

"I'm guessing you didn't quite manage," Hermione said sympathetically.

Harry winced. They both knew he lacked in the grace department more often than not, even on completely flat surfaces.

"No," he admitted. "I tripped and knocked over a suit of armour. Mrs Norris found me as I was trying to put it back together, so I had to run to avoid Filch. I didn't mean to, but I ended up at a locked door on the third floor. I would have been done for, but I remembered that unlocking spell Hermione was helping me with."

Harry made a distressed noised in the back of his throat somewhere between disbelief and protest.

"You mean you can get to potential death with just an _alohomora_?" Draco hissed.

He was doing a lot of that today.

"Dumbledore's madder than I thought."

Neville nodded weakly.

"So what was inside?" Hermione whispered. "What've they got hidden?"

"Cerberus on top of a trap door. It's got three heads and everything, and it's at least twelve feet tall. I got out of there faster than I've ever run, all the way back to Gryffindor tower."

"Seriously?" Harry complained. "A quadruple 'X' classed creature's just sitting in a corridor?"

Neville shrugged.

"The next morning, I thought maybe I ate something off the night before and dreamed it all, but I snuck back during lunchtime and put my ear to the door, and sure enough, I could hear it snoring."

Daphne gasped and pulled Harry closer to her by his sleeve.

"_Professor Snape's Leg!_"

"He must have run afoul of the dog trying to stop the thief!" Harry agreed.

"Oh no," Hermione moaned as understand dawned over her features. "The thief overheard, but Hogwarts is supposed to have the best wards and protections of any magical stronghold in Europe, so-"

"The thief enlisted the most vulnerable professor here to help him steal it," Harry concluded. "Quirrel's definitely our man."

"But what's this all got to do with _you_?" Daphne frowned and stared at Harry as if doing so might illuminate her answer. "Other than your saving me from the Troll, you haven't done anything to make you a threat to the thief."

They all sat silently at her declaration, all digesting Draco's revelations. Hermione rolled over to face-plant in her beanbag with a groan. Daphne continued glaring at Harry, who flipped rapidly through his notebook seeking clarity. Neville nursed a cup of cold tea. Draco seemed frustrated and anxious, and showed it by chewing his perfectly manicured nails.

"Ahem."

Harry's pen stopped its scratching, and Neville promptly dropped his tea as all four children turned toward the unexpected sound.

The screen on the wall held the Doctor's angular, merry face. His eyes surveyed the children approvingly and came to rest on the new additions.

"Hello!" he said cheerily. "Who might you two be?"

"What _is_ this room?" Daphne demanded again.

"Urm-" Draco cleared his throat. "I'm Draco Malfoy. Who are you?"

"Jemmy's dad-"

"_Dad!_" Harry complained.

"Sorry," the man said unrepentantly. "_Harry's_ dad. But you can call me the Doctor."

Daphne unfroze from her stiff pose in her seat and looked at him shrewdly.

"_Just_ 'the Doctor'?" she hummed. "That is most definitely a title. Isn't that the muggle term for a healer? And why _the_ Doctor?"

"I have a very good answer for that," he happily assured her. "But first, what's your name?"

He affected an innocently curious expression that the girl immediately distrusted.

"Daphne Greengrass."

"Well, Daphne Greengrass," he replied. "Why are you 'Daphne Greengrass?'"

She frowned. Harry felt badly for her.

"Because that's my name," she said with just a hint of frustration.

"Well, there you have it!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Now, I happened to overhear the majority of your conversation there-"

"Why didn't you say anything?" Harry grumbled.

"Hush," his father reprimanded before continuing on like he hadn't interrupted.

"-And it seems to me that the answer to the most important question lies behind door number one itself," he reasoned. "In other words, you need to know what the prize is in order to narrow down _who_ might be after it, hence giving you greater insight into _why_ said thief would be motivated to go after our Harry."

"Oh," Hermione said again. "Right. Quirrel is the means to the thief's end, so anything odd he does is likely directed by that individual."

"Exactly," the Doctor concluded brightly.

"But how do we determine that?" Draco grumbled. "That's something only Gringotts would know, and they wouldn't ever break client confidentiality."

"Wrong-o," the enthusiastic man sang. "You've already identified a veritable fountain of information."

"Hagrid," Neville said bleakly. "We need to talk to Hagrid."


	11. A Normal Christmas

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: Here's some fluff, some drama, and a pinch of magical history, just for fun. Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Chapter Eleven: A Normal Christmas

* * *

**Later, 19 November 2012**

The children quickly devised a strategy for milking the 'sweet, but indiscreet' groundskeeper for information, after which followed a long conversation between an increasingly frustrated Daphne and an endlessly amused Doctor.

"You can't just explain this room with 'Cross-Dimensional Psychic Wish-Granting _thing_.'" she had protested. "What sort of Wizard are you?"

However, the Doctor's falsely indignant responses quickly convinced the girl she would be better off conducting her own research on the matter rather than attempt pulling an intelligible answer to any straightforward question, and so it was not long after the conclusion of their planning that she quit the room in a veritable snit. Hermione giggled once the door slammed closed, and Draco looked at the still-trembling door with obvious longing.

"Well, I never," the Doctor gasped.

He could not quite stop the smile that overtook his face.

"Are we done, yet?" Draco mumbled. "My brain is on the verge of exploding."

"Chocolate," Harry said definitively, with a significant look at Neville and Hermione. "You should all go have some and spend the rest of the day doing other things.

"But we've got Astronomy, later," the Hufflepuff complained, referring to herself and Neville. "I won't get my kip in if I eat anything caffeinated."

"Sugar, then," the Doctor suggested lightly with a waggle of his bushy eyebrows. "On with you. I need to talk with my son."

Harry's closest friends seemed to understand, and Draco was happy to take the dismissal as an opportunity to flee as far as possible from the disappearing room and its most frequent occupants. The door closed behind them more softly than it had for Daphne, and Harry promptly sighed and flopped heavily into the beanbag nearest to the massive screen. The deliciously squashy furniture obligingly expanded beneath him to encompass all of his limbs so that none hung over open air.

"I think we've figured out the headaches," Harry said to pre-empt the scolding his father clearly had in mind for him. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you myself. I think it's related to said headaches."

The Doctor took a moment to process that as he watched his son shrewdly.

"Draco's actually the one who noticed it. My headaches are always worse around Quirrel, and they first started when I saw him speaking with Professor Snape at the welcoming feast," he elaborated. "Which got me thinking about my conversation with him."

"Oh!"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled.

"And you said not telling us everything that happened was related. What do you mean?"

"I felt compelled to do the exact opposite of what I would normally," the boy clarified. "Hermione had to _convince_ me it was a good idea."

"Oh-" the Doctor rumbled, his surprise quickly morphing into anger. "He compelled you not to say anything to give himself more time to do you in for unknown reasons, and he's also a attacking your mind, so either he's made it in and is causing the pain that way, or you're getting the headaches from the effort you're unconsciously using to keep him out. "

Harry nodded floppily against the beanbag with his face set in mild annoyance.

"Exactly."

His father grumbled under his breath and disappeared view for a moment. The real tree house's interior filled the screen without him blocking it, so that, if the image had shown a lounging preteen, it would have passed as a mirror reflection. The Doctor's perpetually mussed hair stuck up even odder than ever when he plopped again in front of the television. He wore a wide grin as he held up a finger with what _looked_ like a round sticker stuck to its tip. A dark blue line marked the vinyl disc's diameter, bisecting a long rectangle whose right side, from Harry's perspective, had been shaded the same dark blue as the line. The other side hadn't been filled in, while the space around it had, creating a reverse image.

"Two-way mirror," the Doctor said proudly, sticking the dot to his forehead. "I developed this for your mum to have while in Wizard Space. It's a wearable magic disruption field. Keep nearly all _inbound_ magic from affecting the wearer."

"So it wouldn't affect my spellcasting?" Harry asked hopefully.

His father's grin was nearly feral in its intensity.

"Exactly," he pronounced emphatically. "I tested it against just about every spell I know and-"

"What?" Harry demanded, sitting up sharply despite the almost adhesive nature of his beanbag. "Since when can you cast magic?"

"Oh," the Doctor dismissed with a wave. "I figured it out. Went on a hunch based on what the Goblins said and did some experimentation until I had the hang of it."

"Wait!"

"_Hush_."

The man brought a finger to his lips, and Harry found himself mirroring the gesture with a frown.

"As I was saying," the half-human Time Lord grinned behind his raised digit. "I tested it against just about everything. Conjured things disappear on contact with the wearer, and things like tripping jinxes, stunners, etcetera, are useless against it. It can't even be summoned."

"But?"

The Doctor gave Harry a look for his cheek.

"_But_, if someone were to, say, levitate a club over your head, the disruption field won't do a thing against gravity," he warned. "The same goes for banished projectiles. It also won't do a thing against environmental changes, so if someone ices the floor underfoot, again, you're not going to stop physics."

"Still," Harry said appreciatively. "It's a lot better than what I've been doing, especially since I don't know how to do a shield charm, yet."

"Which wouldn't work against mind magicks anyway," the Doctor agreed. "I'll send Hedwig with enough to get you through to the holiday. Stick one on your broom, for good measure, too. It won't affect the broom's functionality."

"Thanks, Dad," the boy breathed, visibly relaxing while his father watched.

The Doctor beamed at him gently.

"Anytime, Son."

* * *

**14 December 2012**

Hermione took a deep breath and steeled her courage as she approached the large, roughly hewn front door to the groundskeeper's cottage. The thatch roof dripped as the snow on top melted a bit in the bright sunshine she clutched her little jar of blue flames tighter as the wind blew her hair coldly about her face. It had been a rather long walk from the Quidditch pitch after Slytherin's second win of the season. Harry caught the snitch in less than five minutes, which, as Hermione later informed Neville and the others, broke the previous record by _two_ minutes. In all, the trek down through the throng of people had taken longer than the whole game. Hagrid, as big as he was, had beaten them by a good ten minutes to his cottage on the other side of the grounds.

Neville visibly shivered beside her. In his haste to pack for the Christmas holidays he had forgotten to leave out his winter cloak, so wore one better suited for mild weather. She passed him the jar as she knocked hard on the rustic door, using her other hand to keep her hood from flying off her head and unleashing the uncooperative beast otherwise known as her rebellious hair.

A bang and some barking sounded within the hut.

"Down, Fang!" a big voice boomed as the door swung open.

"'Ello Hermione! Neville! It's been a while since you last visited."

Hermione giggled. Their last encounter had been a direct result of accidentally going too high in her flying lesson. She caught up by an errant wind, and in her attempt to make a safe, quick landing, accidentally crushed several of the groundskeeper's cabbages when she tumbled into his garden. In her guilt, she'd corralled Neville into helping her plant some new ones. They'd stayed for a tea served in too-large mugs and several inedible cakes, but had enjoyed the visit, anyway.

"Sorry about that, Hagrid," she said sweetly. "We thought we'd come down before we left for Christmas, though."

The large man ushered the children in out of the cold and began bustling about, making tea and arranging some tinned biscuits – Neville and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the packaging – on a plate. The Gryffindor forewent the seat at the table, though, to sit by the hearth and regain the feeling in his fingers and toes. After the tingling receded and Hermione had a steaming mug of tea in front of her, he rummaged in his robe to withdraw a small phial with a subtly glowing green twig inside.

"We brought you an early gift for Yule," he said, holding it up for the groundskeeper's inspection. "Hermione charmed the phial to keep it in stasis, and I got my gran to do a clipping from our gardens. If you dig a bit of a trench around your vegetables, fill it with obsidian chips and dragon dung, and plant this in it, it'll grow a three-foot-high fireproof hedge to keep all sorts of pests away. Its thorns are really toxic, so even magical creatures know to avoid it, and it grows all the way to the ground, so those slugs shouldn't be able to get through it. Just make sure you leave a space to put in a gate wide enough so you don't touch it by accident. I did once, with the one around our elves' vegetable patch, and I was down for about a week."

Hagrid's face lit up behind his bushy beard.

"Thank ye both! How thoughtful," he gushed. "I was just tellin' Professer Sprout we needed somethin' new for the school gardens. Flesh eat'n slugs always crop up real bad after Christmas hols, and they go straight from vegetable-born eggs to terrorising the Forest."

"It was our pleasure," Hermione assured him. "Besides, your stories about magical creatures helped us do well on our end-of-term exams for Defence."

She was laying it on a little thick, but the man beamed at them, so she thought it was worth it. They settled in for their tea and biscuits, Neville carrying most of the conversation by talking about the many species salamanders he found in his family's gardens, as Hermione contemplated their next move.

It had been a very long couple of weeks since their startling epiphany in the secret tree house. She had tried finding possible candidates for the mysterious object while they waited for an opportunity to bring it up with Hagrid, but without confirmation or any evidence as to the identity of the thief's prize, it did little good.

Preparations for Christmastime, however, seemed to take the majority of Hagrid's time. If they saw him in the school, it was while dragging fifteen-foot (or higher) fir trees to their stations in the great hall or other courtyards. While they never failed to wave a 'hello' at the gentle giant, the chance meetings never afforded enough time to weasel the information out of him. The few times they caught him on the grounds, it was in the midst of serious business that required a crossbow on the groundskeeper's part, and the presence of his ferocious-looking bull hound, Fang.

Given their difficulty, Hermione resolved to corner the man when she _knew_ he would be in his cabin. Although Hagrid had plenty to keep him busy, he had _never _missed a game of Quidditch as far as she had seen. Guilt twisted her gut a little at that thought. During the last game, Neville got to talking with Hagrid about his interest in Qudditch, and the man's answer had surprised them both. Hagrid had dropped his voice to a gravelly whisper, and fondly explained that he liked to cheer for the Gryffindors and Harry.

Hermione had asked 'why' since she knew the Slytherin wasn't well acquainted with the man, the groundskeeper grew misty-eyed and melancholy. His beatle-black eyes found Harry among the Slytherin stands, where he and his team sat together (with Draco and Daphne nearby) as a show of solidarity while other teams played.

"_I always worried for 'im,"_ Hagrid told her. _"I delivered him to the Headmaster at his Aunt an' Uncles'. I was proud ter help, but he was so tiny and scared, and Professor Minerva had nothin' good ter say 'bout them muggles."_

He had quickly regained his cheer as he recalled Harry's first game, however.

"_I feel better, seein' him fly like his dad. Good man, James Potter. Always was a well-meaning kid in school, even if he was rough aroun' the edges. And you couldn' meet a better person than Lily Evans. Sweet and kind as the day was long."_

After that, Hermione and Neville devised their gift to Hagrid and now, finally, it sounded as if they would finally have their answer. Or, at least, she hoped, a _clue_ to their answer.

They really needed another girl, she mused, probably a Ravenclaw, to balance out the Slytherin mob of their group, as Hermione sometimes thought of them.

"…but I bet you'd be trusted with worse animals than that," Neville said, reflecting on his experience with an ashwinder in the greenhouse stove.

Hermione tuned into the conversation again as she heard the cue they had previously agreed upon.

"Well sure," Hagrid smiled. "The trick is ter know a creature's soft spot. Even cerberuses aren' trouble at all once you know how to handle them! Why, if you saw my Fluffy now-"

The Hufflepuff barely resisted the urge to twitch at the man's accidental revelation.

"Er- Never mind that," the groundskeeper said nervously. "Wasn' relevant."

"Actually," she interjected in a lower voice as she stared into her cup with as much nonchalance as she could muster.

When they practiced this conversation in the tree house, Daphne had bluntly informed the Hufflepuff her face completely lacked the guile necessary to fool even the least observant.

"We also wanted to see you because-"

"Hermione," Neville interrupted, just as they rehearsed. "He'd be upset with for telling."

She fidgeted, and didn't need to fake her nervousness before continuing.

"We're a little concerned about Harry," she blurted. "But he made us _swear_ not to tell anyone."

"Oh, you lot can tell me."

Hermione and Neville exchanged a long look.

"But it's to do with Harry's home life," she continued morosely. "He'd never forgive us if he knew we asked your advice. He just won't listen, though."

Hagrid patted Hermione's hand gently and gave her a reassuring smile.

"You can tell me anythin'. I won' discuss it with anyone ou'side this room. I'm dependable as a good stone house, me," he proudly assured her. "Just this summer Profesor Dumbledore even trust me with an errand for Mr Nicholas Flamel."

The children's hearts beat a little faster at the admission. It was exactly the sort of lead they were hoping for.

"Well…" Neville began, the corners of his lips twitching. "You see, Harry's dad's a wizard, but because of old job in the States, he's apparently getting up to all these mad experiments, and Harry's worried his dad's going to get thrown in Azkaban for doing something he shouldn't."

Hagrid let out a booming laugh and clapped Neville on the back. The round-faced boy lurched forward in his seat.

"Is tha' all? Tha's no problem. Arthur Weasley heads up the Improper Use of Magic office, and he's the worst o' the lot with 'experimentation'. You tell Harry to have his dad get a copy of the law from 'is office so he knows the loopholes."

Hermione and Neville proceeded in thanking Hagrid profusely for his sound advice and spent the rest of their visit talking about lighter subjects. When nothing remained in the chipped old teapot, and the plate lay clear of all save the crumbs, Hermione bid Hagrid a very happy Christmas, Neville wished him a merry Yule, and both bundled back for their return trip to the castle.

"Well," Neville wheezed as they made their way up the hill via back through the deep channel Hermione had melted into the snow. "That was easier than I expected it to be."

Hermione grinned and threw part of her cloak over Neville's shivering shoulders. He gratefully pulled the long edge around him, and she moved the jar of bluebell flames between them to radiate more warmth for the half-frozen Gryffindor.

"I recognized the name, too," she grinned as the excitement of better understanding washed away her guilt at manipulating their friend.

"I'm sure I read about Nicholas Flamel not too long ago."

* * *

**20 December 2012**

_Dear Neville, _

_Mum and Dad said yes, we would love to spend the New Year with you at Longbottom Hall. Mum and Jen loved the invitation, too. Were blooming ice vines your idea? _

_You should get the official RSVP by tomorrow. Mum wanted to make sure she and Jen were properly kitted out for a magical high society ball before she put quill to parchment. _

_Thanks again for checking wrapping things up before we left. Dad's pleased we've worked it out as much as we have, and he's working on a list of possible suspects. We need to do some more research and exploration, but I think we're close. In other news, Dad's been promoted in the Department of Records and has officially registered as a citizen of the United Magical Kingdom of Greater Britain. I've been getting an excellent review of my course work, since our address has been registered as a magical residence, and so expect I'll be moving ahead into second term material, soon. _

_More good news: my sister Jenny's a witch. We weren't so sure, since my accidental and intentional magic was always pretty active while I was at home, but Dad's done a few tests on her when she hasn't been paying attention, and he's sure of it. I went and bought her a toy training broom and a play snitch, and I can't wait to see her face. She doesn't know, yet. _

_As entertaining at it is for me, Mum's going nuts trying to keep up with him. We may have accidentally blown up the tree house. Don't worry, though – we should have it rebuilt before we go back for spring term._

_Does your gran like music? If so, we've got an excellent hostess's gift in mind for her. If not, please give us suggestions. We don't want to offend her; although, I'm sure Dad'll try to prove me wrong on that point by the time we leave your party. Mum says wine's always a good option, but I think that's boring. Also, is Wizless liquor the same as their Wizarding counterparts?_

_I look forward to seeing you for the New Year. I hope you like your present! _

_Your ever-affectionate and slightly mad mate,_

_Harry_

...

Jenny crowed as her father made the stuffed animals and dolls scattered about the sitting room rise to their plastic and plush feet to dance around the carpet in a perfect waltz. Eventually, though, Rose commandeered the carpet space for a game of _Monopoly_ in which she, the Doctor and an MI5 agent engaged in a cutthroat game of capitalist satire. Jacqueline Tyler, who had arrived in time for afternoon tea, made disapproving faces from her spot on the chaise as her son, Tony, allowed her granddaughter to plaster his face with makeup. He tried not to sneeze as the five-year-old gave him another poof of powder to the upper lip.

"Why are you growing so many hairs here?" she complained.

Jackie laughed.

Tony winced.

"Puberty, love," Jackie explained. "Watch- As soon as my boy gets something more than fuzz, he'll be trying to grow a moustache."

"Don't let your gran fool you, Jen," Tony whispered with a wink for the little girl. "I'm _very_ pretty, even with the whiskers. Just give me extra fancy eye makeup, and no one will notice them."

"You _are_ very pretty, Tony," the Doctor said with an affectionate smile. "And you, Jackie, quit trying to ruin Tony's fun. There's nothing wrong a little makeup and a dress. _You_ like trousers, don't you?"

"Blue jeans are one thing," Jackie grumbled. "But every time I leave my house for anything more than groceries, you'd better believe I'm wearing a proper skirt and blouse. I'm the First Lady, after all."

The Doctor rolled his eyes, and the bodyguard sighed as Mrs Tyler geared up for a too-familiar rant.

"Just what would people say if they saw the President's son in all that? I don't care how tolerant people supposedly are," she said loudly, turning on Tony. "Your dad'd be out of his office faster than you can imagine. I don't like it."

"Oi," Rose called, pausing in her count of the multicoloured notes to glare. "No yelling. Also, my house, my rules. Tony can wear as much makeup as Tony and Jenny like. And mum, didn't I tell you things aren't so cut and dry? I've met omnisexual time agents! _You_'ve met Jack! And the Doctor knows plenty of Time Lords and Ladies who switched gender or sex with regenerations."

Tony fell back on the carpet, his makeover apparently complete, only to be tackled by Jenny's animated plush toys.

"Why are you all making such a fuss?" he grumbled through the plush barrier. "I'm just letting the princess have what she wants. Ow!"

He pouted and rubbed his shoulder where Jenny's sharp little fist had connected with it.

"That hurt, you know."

"That's the point," she assured him prissily. "I am _not_ a princess. I'm a witch. Mummy-"

Jenny turned to Rose, who had just landed her tin dog on the 'Go to Jail' square. The woman acknowledged her daughter with a grunt rather than a word as she watched her husband take his turn.

He'd been caught at sleight of hand when it came to the _Community Chest_ cards before.

"Since we're visiting Harry's mate Neville for the New Year, and Hermione's coming over for Boxing Day, can't I have Corrine and Melissa over sometime?"

Rose bit her lip and looked to the Doctor, who frowned.

"I don't see why we can't, but you know the rules with people not in the know," her father said slowly.

"I know," Jenny sulked. "They can't know about magic or any of the cool stuff we do."

"Yeah," Rose sympathised. "Keeping secrets isn't fun when you love someone."

"Sometimes, I hate that we're so odd."

Harry descended the stairs, his letter in hand, and entered the sitting room to find his grandmother loudly attempting to scrub the lipstick from his uncle's face as Tony struggled to get away. Jenny sat pouting amongst a pile of plush creatures that took turns trying to tickle her sides in an attempt to cheer her. The Doctor lay on his stomach before their enlarged _Monopoly_ board, with his new wand – a unique mix of pacific yew, dragon heartstring and unknown tech – over his shoulder to conduct the plush attack while he continued his game. Hedwig gave a soft shriek from her perch in the corner. Her eyes were narrowed against the noise in the room, and Harry couldn't help but sympathise. He loved his grandmother, but she could be a little grating, to say the least.

"Here you go, Hedwig," he said loudly, crossing the room to attach the letter to her leg. "It's for Neville."

"What do you think, Harry?" the Doctor called as Jenny's favourite plush, Mr Cephopolis, performed a squiddy cartwheel over his owner's tummy.

The boy was not sure whether the man referred to his row of very expensive hotels spanning the corner of Boardwalk to the slums just past 'Go', or the magically animated stuffed, pink squid.

"Excellent form, Dad," he laughed. "Why's Jen moping?"

"I'm _not_ moping," she whinged. "I'm just sick of being in a family of weirdoes."

Harry carried Hedwig to the window and gave her a little bit of a launch to help her take off. She gave him an appreciative call as she disappeared into the growing dusk. He turned and drew his wand to set one of the other stuffed animals to duel Mr Cephopolis. Jenny's pout curled into a reluctant smile.

"Am I really that weird, Jen?" Harry asked as the teddy bear duelling Mr Cephopolis mimed a very dramatic death. "I thought you liked magic and everything."

Jenny sighed loudly.

"Oh fine! I guess weird's okay," she admitted. "I just wish other people could know about it."

The Doctor and Harry shared a hopeful glance.

"Someday, Jenny, love," her father said, "You and your brother, or someone like you two, will create a world where no one has to hide their weirdness."

Rose smiled and pulled Jenny to her feet, much to the protest of the stuffed animals.

"Why don't you invite them over just before term starts back up," she suggested. "We can arrange a slumber party for you and kick Daddy out to the tree house. Sound good?"

Jenny happily agreed allowed her father to lead her, and her brigade of stuffed creatures, back up to her room for bedtime. Jackie and Tony departed, once the latter's face had been brutally scrubbed with baby oil, with the MI5 agent in tow to escort both to the President's private Marina for a special Christmas cruise with Pete. With Jenny in bed and their extended family off to board their yacht, Harry, Rose and the Doctor breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"You need to talk to your mum about Tony," the Doctor sighed as he rolled over to stare at the ceiling.

His customary blue suit lay unbuttoned, and his loosened tie flopped messily over his shoulder. He looked thoroughly knackered. Rose joined him to lay with her head on his trim stomach, and Harry plopped down nearby.

"I've tried," she complained. "She just doesn't understand, and probably won't until the poor kid figures it out, and does something about it, first."

"What are we talking about?" Harry frowned. "Is Uncle Tony gay?"

"No, love," his mother hummed as she reached up to run a hand through his hair. "Tony just has a lot to figure out."

Harry understood the unasked request to let the matter drop, and so rather than continuing the conversation, flicked his wrist to summon three bottles of butterbeer from the fridge.

The Doctor had ordered several barrels from the Leaky Cauldron after their first few visits.

They floated obediently from the kitchen to land in spots convenient to their recipients, and the Doctor jabbed his wand at them to make the corks pop loose. Another swirl vanished the hovering objects, and a flick caused sweet-smelling steam to issue from the bottles' narrow necks.

Harry took a draught and smiled lazily as the sweet, buttery beverage slid warmly down his throat.

"So how're the headaches since you've started wearing the patch?"

Rose elbowed her husband.

"People are going to think he's addicted to cigarettes."

Her son grinned and shrugged.

"Much better," he affirmed. "Pretty much gone, and the ones I still have are stress-related, I think."

"I'm glad," Rose smiled. "I was getting worried."

They lounged quietly for a while, their game abandoned with Bob, the MI5 bodyguard, gone with the other Tylers, sipping butterbeer and enjoying the reprieve with Jenny down for the night and Harry home.

With his smother's fingers carding gently through his messy hair, which was wonderfully free of pomade since his return from Wizardspace, and Harry quickly grew drowsy. He felt more relaxed than he'd ever been after receiving his Hogwarts letter. His mum smelled of crisp apples. He could feel the comforting weight of his dad's hand on his knee, and the low hum of a lullaby rumbled in the Doctor's chest.

The pure contentment thrumming through him made him wish he were Jenny's age again, so he could bask in it longer, but the air tasted of petrichor and the bitter bite of sadness, so he broke the moment while he still had the resolve to do so.

"What do we need to talk about?"

He couldn't help the fear that crept into his voice with his question, and his mother's long sigh did not help to ease the feeling. He waited patiently while his parents conducted a conversation based solely on eyebrow wiggles, glances, and the silent twitching of their lips.

"I spoke to Rax after you lot worked out the connection between the trouble at school and the break-in, and he allowed me to do my own scan of the vault as a personal favour," the Doctor finally said. "The types of security on that vault were akin to Gallifreyan measures of concealment and protection. _No one _should have been able to get in at all, irrespective of whether the vault was empty or not. Not even the Goblins can access that vault without very specific permission. "

Rose's fingers took up their circular trek from Harry's crown, down the back of his head, and back up again as her husband spoke. Harry leaned into her touch gratefully as the Doctor's words settled in his brain.

"There are very few people with the skill to pull such a thing off," he continued. "None of them are a good possibility."

"We're telling you this not to scare you," Rose murmured gently. "But to put you on your guard. We still want you to let _us_ worry about taking care of the thief, but since you're going to be investigating the third floor, you need to be aware."

"Okay," Harry rasped.

He coughed and tried to clear the fear in his throat.

"We're leaving the topic of the bogeyman, now," his mother soothed, though her voice hinted at sadness and something Harry could not identify. "We found your birth and custody records after James and Lily's deaths were recorded."

"There are a _lot_ of so-called coincidences surrounding the whole affair," the Doctor related. "We don't know everything yet, but we did get several facts that lead us to the disturbing conclusion that someone's setting you up."

The boy groaned and surrendered in his battle to resist curling up in his mother's side. She pressed a kiss to his brow and wrapped a soft arm around his waist as soon as she felt his head lean into her shoulder.

"We went through every book, article and blurb written about you in the time you've been gone from Wizardspace," Rose explained. "Despite the dearth of witnesses to corroborate the story, details about what happened that night seemed to disseminate through the public overnight without any variation as to the _who_, _why_, and _how_ starting from when Voldemort found James and Lily's home in Godric's Hollow up until when you were taken immediately after."

At some cue Harry didn't recognize, the Doctor continued in the same vein.

"The only people who we think actually witnessed things are incarcerated, missing and assumed dead, or too young to remember very much," he thrummed. "Top that off, we have the issue of your guardianship."

Rose squeezed Harry comfortingly when she felt him stiffen against her.

"Old Voldy murdered the Potters on the night of the thirty-first, and you were declared a ward of Hogwarts by the Wizengamot without contest at four in the morning, on the first of November, in a secret session attended by only six of almost fifty members. There is no record of the murderer's body, remains, or any such recovered from Godric's Hollow. The people designated as your custodians in the event of such emergencies were decommissioned mere hours later."

The Doctor and Rose shared a long look.

"Fast forward a few years," he said carefully. "And these _Harry Potter and the_ 'insert monster, madness, and mayhem here' books come out. No matter the author, publisher, year, or what have you, they all agree on some key details: Your role as a hero with special powers, your appearance – down to the inclusion of your eye color, glasses, and scar, which wasn't recorded _anywhere_ in your medical file and or elsewhere that we could find – and the assertion that when Voldy murdered your parents, he wasn't after them, but _you_. There are _thousands_ of these novels in circulation. Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

The familiar shapes and colours of Harry's sitting room suddenly swirled and distorted in his peripheral vision. He felt both hot and cold. His fingers felt numb around his butterbeer, and his chest felt tight.

"Jemmy," the Doctor murmured. "Calm down, Jemmy-boy. It'll be all right."

Electricity ran up Harry's spine and ozone prickled sharply in his nostrils. Bright flashes signaled the lights' reaction to the child's growing panic as they blinked on and off unbidden. Glassware, including the windows, fixtures and décor began a thrumming ring as they trembled in time to the building waves of power swirling around the boy. Rose and the Doctor pulled their boy across their knees, wrapped their arms around him, and held him tight. The Doctor hummed a lullaby. Rose muttered sweet nonsense in Harry's ear.

Slowly but surely, the crackling and the vibrations died off, leaving only the slightly sharp smell of electricity in the air and the child's quick, shallow breathing.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the crook of his mother's neck once he was able.

"None of that, now," she gently reprimanded. "None of this is your fault, and we're here for you through anything you might face."

The eleven-year-old took a very deep, shuddering breath while his parents held him. He felt very small and very vulnerable.

"Can I just run?" he asked very softly.

He could not bring himself to look at either of his parents for the shame he felt in the admission of fear. When he finally managed, though, neither seemed disappointed with him. His mum, with her wild, coppery curls falling messily around her face, smiled gently as he searched her face. Her large, mischievous eyes looked soft in the corners, crinkling with her slight laugh lines. His dad, when Harry dared to peek through his mum's hair, held the exact same emotion in his battle-wizened gaze. The things he read there made his chest hurt.

"You don't ever have to do anything you don't want to," Rose told him quietly. "We'll always be proud of you. Retreat doesn't make you a coward."

The Doctor rubbed the back of Harry's neck in soothing circles, just as he always did when he felt angry or sad, or while his mysterious power threatened to blow their house apart.

Rose had told Harry he did it fairly often when they first brought him home. The first time _he_ could remember was in primary school, when a blonde whale of a boy made fun of him for being adopted. In his fourth form, he was walking Jenny home from daycare, which was only a couple blocks from his house on the way from his school, when a tall man with cold eyes and a fake smile started following them. Afraid, Harry had led Jenny quickly away, but they ended up backed into an alley. Harry hadn't trusted him, and when he refused to go with him, or let go of Jenny, the man took out a gun.

The backlash was immediate and brutal. Harry's fear smashed out all the windows and lights bordering the alley and blasted the man who threatened them into a parked car where he slumped, unconscious to the pavement. Terrified by the entire experience, he threw his sister onto his back and ran all the way home with the almost three-year-old crying into his collar.

Whether the psychokinetic tempests (as the Doctor dubbed them) came from fear, from anger, or from childish selfishness, his parents wavered in their support. They accepted all of him and had delved deep into Wizardspace, on his behalf, in their attempts to unravel the mystery of how he came to be _their_ son.

He knew wholeheartedly that if he asked and meant it, they would pull him out of Hogwarts, take him elsewhere, and forget the months of research they put into all this mess that was, apparently, his life.

"It's a set up," Harry finally mumbled. "I'm being set up for something."

"As far as we can tell, yeah," Rose grimly affirmed, still stroking her son's hair. "What do you want us to do?"

"Whoever did this went through _a lot_ of trouble. They've spent decades of work building me up as this icon, and the minute I come back to the Wizarding world, I'm thrust in the middle of a novel-worthy mystery fraught with murder and grand larceny," the young Slytherin summarized with a slightly hysterical note. "I think if I tried to run away, we'd just make whoever's responsible for it all more desperate, and we'd have less to work with, too."

"You're only a boy, Harry," the Doctor said firmly.

His voice and eyes burned with conviction as he squeezed his son's shoulder.

"You don't have to be anything but you. You don't have to be a wizard or a hero."

"Well, too bad," the Slytherin huffed.

The anxiety wriggling in his belly faded a little as he thought about his sister, who had tried to make him bring her to Hogwarts in his trunk and still did not know about her abilities. Idly, he wondered how she managed to sleep through the ruckus he made.

"I _am_ a wizard," Harry finally sneered. "And if they want a bloody hero, they can have that, too; but I can _guarantee_ they won't like the one I give them."

* * *

**December 25, 2012**

Ever since Harry could remember, Christmas had always been his favourite holiday. He ignored Grandma Jackie's reports that he cried throughout his first one – Never mind his dad and mum's corroboration of the account. Even that slightly melancholy occasion led to a tradition that had not been broken since.

The Doctor on Christmas was something to behold. After Harry had run out of tears and lost his voice for bawling as a one-year-old, his new dad had somehow managed to make it snow indoors, just so he would not be distracted by sadness again.

The first Christmas Harry could personally remember, a hovering train engine perfectly sized for a little boy of four zoomed him around their then-small sitting room. When he was six and Jenny had only just been born, the Doctor somehow corralled a live team of deer who gave them a sleigh ride down the street to church, where the other children also benefited from his festive cheer. They also managed to have Jenny baptised during that visit, too, at Jackie's insistence of "tradition trumps time travelling," or something along those lines.

The morning of Christmas 2012, Harry lay in bed, staring at his ceiling a little groggily as he counted down in his head. For the past couple of years, Jenny had risen at exactly five-thirty, run straight down the hallway, and leapt into his bed so as to beat him about the face with her stuffed pink squid, Mr Cephopolis, in order to–

The door slammed open and Harry grunted as Jenny's weight slammed into his stomach.

"Wake up! Wake up! It's Christmas!"

Harry groaned and pushed his glasses onto his face as he sat up, all while batting away Mr Cephopolis's plush tentacles. Jenny sat there as the picture of childish excitement and utter cuteness in her footed mint-coloured pyjamas. Her hair hung about her face in wild, flyaway curls she had valiantly attempted to control with a reindeer antler headband. Following the little girl's imperious commands, he pulled on a jumper as he slid off his very comfortable mattress.

"You know, the presents won't sprout legs and walk off if we sleep in on Christmas morning," he said even as he crouched to give his sister a lift.

The little girl's arms clamped around Harry's neck and shoulders and her knees dug impatiently into his sides.

"Mush!" she shouted, waving the squid at him.

"When I get older and turn into a cranky teenager like Tony, remember how nice I was to you," Harry grunted while he made his way down the stairs. "Or when _you_ get older and decide I'm not good for anything save to annoy you."

Jenny giggled.

"I thought that's how it was, already."

"Cheeky," the boy grunted.

Harry's slippered feet shuffled down the stairs more slowly than usual, which gave Jenny cause to whip him several times about the face with her plush. The short journey would have ended in disaster if Harry hadn't been levitating her a little to ease the weight.

Either way, they managed to navigate the stairs and cross the entry into the sitting room intact. Neither the Doctor nor Rose had woken, so the lamps and fixtures stood dark around the room. In the quiet of the obscenely early morning, their Christmas tree stood resplendent in sparkling ornaments of Christmases past. Twinkling, fluttering fairies, which Harry had caught before leaving the castle, dozed among the branches, creating sparkles of white and blue light that caught in the magically spun ice sickles clinging to every branch. A stasis charm prevented them from dripping onto the presents overflowing the rich velvet rug beneath the tree, and a miniature version of the Hogwarts express wound its way through the valleys of tinsel, new toys and gaily wrapped parcels. Jenny's Lego people had been transfigured during the night, the little garments painstakingly altered down the very last detail so that the little figures looked like tiny wizards-in-training from every house and year.

Jenny and Harry stood in arched doorway, still taking it all in. Jenny slowly slid off Harry's back to hold his hand.

"Wow," she whispered.

"Santa's overdone it this year."

"Never say that," the Doctor said in Harry's ear.

The boy jumped and laughed.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people, Dad!"

"Good you're not _people_, then."

Jenny spun and jumped into her father's arms.

"Daddy, look what Santa did!"

The Doctor beamed.

The stairs creaked, and a moment later Rose peeked around the corner at them with her dressing gown pulled tightly around her against the cold. She smiled at them sleepily, yawned, and turned back around to get their traditional Christmas breakfast. As soon as she returned and put down her tray of hot cocoa, scones, and pumpkin bread, the kids descended like animals on the many wrapped parcels.

"Morning, gorgeous," she mumbled as she slumped heavily into the Doctor's lap.

He grinned at her rakishly and waggled his eyebrows.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs Smith."

The children, meanwhile, remained fully enraptured by the delightful chaos beneath the tree's boughs, so utterly missed their parents' whispers and private laughter.

Harry sat among several beautiful journals covered in TARDIS blue leather, a new set of handsome embossed with his name on the inside covers. He also received a handsome set of eagle quills. The attached note proclaimed them as humanely harvested from seasonal molting, the proceeds from which benefited the Magizoological Conservatory of Great Britain, where the eagle lived. From his grandmum, he got several pieces of Nike active wear, new footie cleats, a miniature air pump, a new ball, and a pair of collapsing goals which assembled much like a tent. Daphne gifted him with a spill-proof writer's carrying and storage set, which included five self-refilling inkwells, a self-refilling atomizer of quick-dry potion, and a built-in storage chamber with a space expansion charm on one side to accommodate longer quills that also held an enchantment to clean its contents with the tap of a wand. Draco sent him a handheld Foe Glass and a pocket Sneakoscope both gilt in beautifully worked silver. The Sneakoscope, unlike more traditional models, looked quite a lot like a tiny compass, except that it hung from a silver chain clearly intended to attach as a weight to a watch chain. His parents gave him a sonic scanner very much like his mother's. It looked like a card-sized pane of glass bordered by shining, brushed aluminium on all sides. Finally, Jenny, with her mother's help, bought him a pair of water-repelling, never-fogging seeker's goggles (which were invisible to the wearer) and a pair of self-sizing seeker's gloves that would grow along with him.

Jenny also benefited from the family's recent acquaintance with the Wizarding world. The Doctor and Rose went a little overboard by either commissioning or creating a collapsible playhouse that folded out from a small model of a blue police public call box. It took a few tried to figure out the puzzle, because while opening the box's door allowed her to view the interior of a perfectly appointed club house, the gap barely allowed enough room for her to stick her arm in. Eventually, she discovered that punching her birthday into the minute number pad hidden inside the telephone compartment on the left-hand door made the beacon on top of box light up. Pressing said beacon caused the box's sides to fold down, revealing a tiny tree (which, at first glance, looked like a piece of brown broccoli) that quickly grew up into a lovely little tree cottage no taller than her mum, and only about as round as their car was wide. It fit, with a bit of a squeeze, in the space between their Christmas tree and fireplace. The house came complete with a tiny, fenced-in garden lush with soft, apple-scented grass over which the tree's widest bough suspended a lovely swing. She adored it, but even in all its glory, her personal clubhouse was not her _best_ gift. Jenny opened boxes of new clothes from her grandmother, unwrapped several new Lego kits from her uncle Tony, and also unboxed a brand-new eReader from her Granddad, but at the bottom of the rather mundane pile typical of a normal Christmas, she found the most peculiar package. The box was long and slender, and immediately brought to mind that funny American Christmas movie she watched on the telly with her mum about a boy and a pellet gun.

She tore off the shooting star paper (with actual, moving shooting stars), ripped open the box, and gaped. From a bed of blue crinkle paper floated the most wonderful gift she could ever imagine. It hovered just at the perfect height for mounting, its tail bristles carefully arranged in precise order, and its handle gleamed. The elegantly engraved gold identification tag stamped to the handle proclaimed the beautiful broom a _Comet 290C - Children's Model_.

"But I'm not a witch," Jenny mourned, her eyes filling with tears as she stared at her new broom.

Her mum and dad smiled down at her so hugely she thought their faces might split. The spark of hope in her chest flared, and jumped higher when Harry dropped a little gold ball in her hands. As she watched, its filigreed wings unfolded from its body, and it took to the air to lazily orbit her head.

"Who says you're not a witch?" he asked casually. "_Dad's_ a wizard by wizard standards."

"Go on, Jen. You'll see," her mother encouraged. "I've already put your boots out by the garden door, along with your coat, hat, and mittens."

"I can try it now?" she squealed.

Harry winced and Hedwig, who had been sleeping on her perch by the window, squawked in protest

"In the back garden and not above the tree line," the Doctor affirmed. "Harry, go with her."

The kids grinned at each other and raced to the back door. Harry's broom, stored in his bedroom for the holiday, zoomed down the stairs and out the door to meet him at its master's silent summons. Moments later, hoops and hollers of joy filtered back into the house.

"I'm a witch!" Jenny screamed triumphantly as she rode her new broom around the garden.

Rose and the Doctor, wrapped in the handsome, self-warming winter cloaks Harry had owl ordered for them, strolled to the terrace to watch while clutching cups of steaming tea. Jenny's broom only rose perhaps nine feet off the ground and went no more than fifteen miles an hour, but it was enough to make both parents flinch every so often as the little girl careened away from the trees shielding the garden.

"Maintain a steady grip," Harry instructed her. "Your left hand should be steering from behind your right one, so if you ever need to use your wand or catch something while flying, you can."

Harry demonstrated by summoning a snowball to him from the light dusting over the grass. Rose frowned up at the sky overhead.

"Did you notice it's raining everywhere else and we have snow?" she murmured after blinking around for a minute.

The Doctor shrugged and his eyes twinkled.

"Santa's magic."

Rose sighed a laugh and slid her arms into her husband's cloak to wind around his waist

"Santa deserves a very special sort of Christmas gift later."

"Yes please," the Doctor squeaked.

But then Jenny, overexcited and giggling madly at the realization of her witch's talents, somehow managed to summon all the snow off the roof to blast not only Harry, but her parents as well.

No one noticed as a brown paper-wrapped parcel tied with simple twine appeared amongst the wreckage strewn about the Christmas tree.

* * *

**26 December 2012**

Harry listened patiently while Hermione worked herself into a strop over the revelation she was only forbidden magic at home because her parents lacked magic. They were only a few minutes into their Boxing Day visit, having just entered the sitting room for a spot of eggnog and conversation before lunch. Hermione had taken in the fairy lights, the snow glinting through the garden-facing the windows, and Jenny's animated stuffed animal army, and gaped. Mr and Mrs Granger looked on in wide-eyed alarm as Hermione went from disbelieving frustration to a full-on rant.

"It's just not fair," she hissed, stomping one foot.

Her hair stood out from her head wildly, and pink suffused both of her caramel coloured cheeks. The air crackled around her in response to her righteous fury.

"It's nothing more than blood-based prejudice. It's no wonder everyone expects us to do badly when our 'betters' have extra practice over the holidays!"

"Hermione," Harry tried again, but she wasn't quite ready tor discourse yet.

"Why is no one else outraged as I am?" she demanded shrilly. "It's ridiculous. You know, _purebloods_ are more likely to break the Statute of Secrecy than any first-gen, seeing as how ignorant they are of the rest of the universe! Not to mention most of them have all the sense of my left boot."

The girl huffed and plopped unceremoniously onto the loveseat between her parents. They looked down at her in bemusement. Harry couldn't help his laugh.

"Of course it's not right," he said quickly as Hermione's stony glare focused on him. "But we'll fix it. We've already started fixing it. And I was trying to say, in the meantime, you can get connected to the Floo Network, and mum and dad already said you're welcome over anytime to practice. We're already connected through the tree house."

The Hufflepuff hissed an angry breath through her teeth.

"You mean they'll met my so-called 'muggle' parents have one?" she grumbled sarcastically, though her tone held less bite than before.

"Yes," Harry said seriously. "It's actually a safety measure advised to all parents, in case anyone needs an escape route in the event of fire, medical emergency, or home invasion."

The Doctor cleared his throat.

"But, seeing as how biased the Ministry is and how fickle politics can be, not to mention the price, why don't I just set it up for you?" he offered. "I do work for them in an official capacity, so I'd be happy to help. Then you can visit any wizarding establishment as you please. Oh, and of course there's the floo at Platform 9 ¾."

The Grangers nodded gratefully.

"Thank you. That would make things easier for us," Jean smiled. "It's a chore to go into town sometimes, and I know Hermione would love to go to the bookshop in Diagon Alley more often."

"Well," the bushy-haired girl sighed, deflating. "I'm still going to raise a fuss someday. It's not fair _at all_."

"I'll help," Harry agreed. "We just need to wait until we're old enough that people will listen. 'Til then, you should just keep proving them wrong, Miss First-in-Class."

After that, the conversation turned to school itself and their Christmases and gifts, and the visit became quite fun.

Hermione delighted in showing her parents what she knew. She very gladly levitated a hyper Jenny about the garden as the little girl mimed a Superman pose. The little girl even tied a scarlet towel around her neck like a cape. Then, just as he had promised on the train months ago, Harry attempted to teach Hermione and Jenny some wandless casting.

"It's similar to using a wand. We need to visualise, focus, and channel our power, but _how_ I focus and channel that power are very different," he explained. "When I use my wand, I feel my will shape the magic with the wand's assistance. The psychic link between wand and wizard or witch starts in the mind. The wand core recognizes the general intent behind a spell, which is often crystallised further by an incantation whose character or properties neatly package an idea in a more tangible concept. At that point, the wand's magic, via its physical properties and runic foci, helps draw the appropriate amount of focus to the idea, which then becomes the spell effect."

Jenny stared up at him with all the understanding of a glazed donut despite the intense focus on her face. Hermione, however, took notes in her neat shorthand.

"When I ask my magic to perform without a wand," he continued, "The magic focuses wherever it's easiest to shape the effect I'm looking for. Sometimes it's in my hands. Sometimes it's somewhere in my chest. It's even been in my feet a couple of times. It's less structured, and a little less controlled at first."

Harry's nose twitched a bit as he focused and held out his hand. Something metal clanged quietly, and a second later, a biscuit sailed neatly into his palm from the tin on the coffee table, which closed itself again once the boy bit into his prize.

"The first time we noticed Harry doing magic," Rose said a little wistfully, "he summoned a biscuit from the tin in the kitchen all the way from the sitting room. I thought I was going mad."

Mr Granger blanched and his wife laughed weakly.

"It's the same for us. We were all reading, and apparently, I wasn't reading the right book because the next thing I know, _Peter Rabbit_ was flying off the shelf at me. I tried to write it off as something I ate, but it kept happening."

Hermione screwed up her face and closed her eyes. Jenny followed suit.

Several quiet, tense moments passed before Mr Cephopolis twitched and jumped into Jenny's arms from his perch on the back of the sofa. Hermione's face promptly crumbled.

"If I did it when I was little, why can't I now?" she said quietly.

The Doctor smiled and patted her shoulder gently.

"Don't worry. Keep trying and it'll come back to you. Perhaps…" he looked between her suddenly quiet parents.

Rose made a sound of understanding.

"It's okay, you know. It's not your fault if you told her not to do it when she was little. I'm sure you thought she was possessed or something, the way our media makes it out, right?"

Jean nodded once, and her eyes looked impossibly sad. Hermione took her mother's hand with a reassuring smile.

"Someone from Hogwarts or the Ministry should have explained things to you the first time it happened so you wouldn't have to worry. It was the right thing to have done, and it seems they're failing in a lot of areas concerning the non-wizarding side of things," Rose said firmly. "My, Pete Tyler, said the Minister of Magic hasn't visited him since he took office, not even for a yearly report."

"Yeah, Mum," Hermione said quietly. "I know you were only trying to protect me. And you haven't stunted me, or anything. I'm doing perfectly well at Hogwarts."

"Better than that," Harry laughed. "She's first in her year, I'm pretty sure."

The girl rolled her eyes and batted Harry's shoulder.

"Am not. I'm four points behind you, thank you very much. Snape's completely unfair."

"Well, first for all girls, then," Harry amended. "And _definitely_ first out of all Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw."

By the end of lunch, Jean and Rose were further along on their way to becoming great friends as they recounted all the strange things they'd witnessed as mothers to magical children, and the Doctor and Jonathan engaged in a lively conversation about space. Jonathan Granger was an amateur astronomer and a space travel enthusiast.

Harry and Hermione delighted in entertaining Jenny and practicing wandless magic. Finally, Hermione managed to summon the leftover bits of paper littering the area around the tree, but had trouble with heavier items.

She sighed as she failed again to lift the parcel hiding behind the lowest boughs of the tree and turned to Harry.

"Maybe it's just too heavy," he suggested, going around the tree.

He picked up the parcel and frowned at the name scrawled on the heavy cardstock tag.

"Mum?" he called. "Was this from either of you?"

The conversation died off on the other side of the sitting room, and the adults wandered closer to see it.

"How did we miss that?" the Doctor muttered. "That definitely wasn't there when we finished with gifts, yesterday. I banished all the wrapping paper to the recycling bin."

"It's not from us," Rose said after closer inspection.

The Doctor leaned over her shoulder and frowned at the strange inscription.

"Use it well…" he made a low humming sound in the back of his throat and sniffed the tag. "Lemons and sugar, and is it just me, or do you know this handwriting?"

His brows drew low over his intense gaze, and he detached the tag. A tap of his wand sent it zipping across the room to Rose's outstretched hand.

"That's _his_ handwriting," she hissed immediately.

"Whose handwriting?" Hermione asked, curious as ever.

"Don't worry about it," the Doctor said, his expression softening to one of mild exasperation. "Just the usual gag gift from a particularly annoying relative."

Mr and Mrs Granger laughed at that. Hermione gave Harry a half knowing, half threatening look.

Later, after the Grangers left for home and Jenny and Harry were in bed, Rose and the Doctor opened the parcel to find the most astonishing gift inside.

"I've been wanting to see one of these since we read about them," the Doctor whispered. "It's so different from the cloak we'd use on the TARDIS."

"It's not just another perception-altering thing, then?" Rose whispered back.

"No. This is the real deal. Something entirely different. You put this on and it does more than tricks your eyes and brain. You don't reflect or absorb light, or even bend it around you. It just passes through you as if you weren't there at all. Everything I've read about demiguise fur makes it sound like they're hovering between dimensional planes, so light particles don't touch them."

Rose let out a low whistle.

"Imagine what the Torchwood gang would have to say about this," she breathed. "Or UNIT."

"Hm," the Doctor grunted. "Best not let them know about it, then."

"So," Rose said as she sat across the Doctor's lap. "Should Harry have it?"

Her husband deliberated as he played with Rose's hair.

"You know, I miss the blonde."

Rose laughed ran her fingers through her Doctor's windswept locks. She grabbed hold a little tighter than absolutely necessary, causing her husband close his eyes and gasp against her throat.

"Maybe I'll dye it back and buy a wig," she mused. "You're avoiding the question, though."

The Doctor laughed and lifted his wife up into his arms.

"I'll ask Rax about it tomorrow. Now, I believe you said something about a special present sometime yesterday?"


	12. New Year Resolution

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: I hate repeating myself, but the conversation in the first part of the chapter's sort of necessary and I couldn't find a way to keep it brief without royally upsetting the flow. I'll try not to make a habit of it. Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Chapter 12: New Year Resolution

* * *

_Draco,_

_How are you? I'm sorry I won't be seeing you at Longbottom Hall tonight. Still, I shan't mourn too deeply. As much as I personally enjoy your wit and charm, I think the politicking, bickering, and possible bloodshed we could expect with both the illustrious Dowager and your infamous father in same room might have put me off the prospect of attending. Next year, I think we should avoid the possible conflict and awkwardness entirely by making our mutual friend invite us home to celebrate the Solstice with his family. Longbottom tells me the Smiths enjoyed both snow and a heated swimming pool on the same day. If that fails to strike your fancy, we could always make a holiday of it at school._

_On that note, Jamie told me told we're not to worry about that last assignment we received for Defence, by the way. It's apparently been postponed until after term starts up again._

_Thank you again for your lovely Yule gift. My mother was surprised to see your card among the usual collection. She said she was impressed by your taste in its selection, and asked whether or not you fancied me. I promptly disabused her of that notion, and will take this opportunity to let you know that if you should ever consider such a thing, yourself, I will cheerfully disembowel you in your sleep and feed your innards to my owl. Just so you're aware and forewarned._

_If, however, you ever realize your undying devotion to our mutual friend, you shall have my utmost support in all your endeavours to ensure your affections returned. I would also be honoured to write the announcement for 'Witch Weekly.' I'm sure such a beautiful union would merit a four-page spread and an article with more substance than the usual dissertation on the perfection of your smiles or cut of your robes._

_I look forward to seeing you back at school and hope you had a happy Yule. _

_Sincerely,_

_Daphne_

* * *

**December 31, 2012**

Longbottom Manor's sprawling grounds lay just west of the village of Ovington in Hampshire. It nestled among old, lush forests for miles, and the expansive estate boasted several sparkling greenhouses. The manor, draped in garlands of holly and mistletoe, watched over lawns and gardens decorated with elf-spun ice crystals and shimmering sculptures, living fairies, and flowing cascades of snowdrops and belladonna arranged so as to elicit visions of frozen waterfalls. As the clock struck nine, the two fireplaces in either reception room roared to life. Wizards and witches resplendent in robes of shimmering silks, satins, and fine, lush furs began to stroll from the hearths. Daphne and Neville waited in the west reception, both wearing equally rich dress robes cut from pale fabrics. They gave nods of greeting and welcome as each wizard or witch arrived from their fireplace, most of whom were Neville's relations or acquaintances.

"Do you think they'll be able to make it?" he asked again.

Daphne barely resisted rolling her eyes and wondered, briefly, if it would have been better to be born a Granger so she could have submitted to the baser desires of her biology, such as rolling her eyes, laughing at idiocy, or showing exasperation with more than a delicate twitch of her brow or wave of her hand.

"Neville, they sent their acceptance, did they not?"

The boy, much slimmer than at the beginning of the year thanks to his dedication to Harry's fitness routine, but no less anxious, fitfully wound and unwound the shining chain of his fob watch around his left thumb. He managed a jerky nod and a handshake for his Great Uncle Algie as the thin, vulture-ish old man came through the fireplace.

"Good to see you looking so well, Neville," he rasped. "Where's Augusta gone off to?"

"Gran's in the other reception hall for now, Uncle," Neville replied, casting a nervous glance to Daphne.

The girl, uncommonly lovely in her shimmering, pale mauve robes and intricately twisted chignon, stepped forward with a charming smile and a gloved hand.

"Mr Algernon Croaker, I presume," she said. "Perhaps you would be so kind to escort me to the ballroom? I believe your wife, Madam Enid Croaker already arrived."

The old man shuddered and offered Daphne his arm as he called over his shoulder at Neville.

"If you've got to marry, Neville, my boy, pick someone young and pretty like Miss Greengrass, here, and die before she gets old and crotchety like your Auntie."

Neville threw Daphne a grateful look as she led his great uncle from the reception room. Before he could settle himself for the next awkward arrival, however, the fireplace belched a massive cloud of dust and spat out a tumble of robes and limbs. Harry coughed out a lungful of soot as he struggled to right himself before the Longbottoms' hearth. Jenny shot out after him and giggled as she slid, upended, across the marble floor, barely missing him.

Neville smiled and rushed to upright the little girl as her older brother cast a dust-banishing charm over himself and tried, in vain, to tame his cowlick to match the rest of his pomade-smoothed hair.

"I thought you'd travelled by floo before," Neville laughed.

Harry sneezed and proceeded to banish the dust from his sister and the previously spotless floor and furnishings.

"Nope," he said cheerfully. "Read about it and saw it done, but I've never had the chance. Hopefully dad and mum have practiced, or else we might need more help with the cleaning."

Free of soot and once again pristine in a well-cut cream coloured robe, white dress shirt, light blue cravat and light gold brocade waistcoat, Harry took Neville's arm and gave him a manly hug before retaking Jenny's hand. She smiled up at the boy shyly, a shining example of girlish sweetness in her pale gold, silk dress and delicately draped chiffon robe of the same colour.

"May I introduce my sister, Jenny Renette Smith," Harry proudly introduced.

Neville grinned and gave Jenny's hand a squeeze and a gentle handshake.

"Hello Jenny. I'm Neville, Harry's schoolmate."

Jenny, devil that she was, smiled broadly.

"I'm pleased to meet you," she chirped too innocently. "Harry says you have plants here that can strangle people. Can I have one?"

Neville laughed and shook his head at Harry.

"I can tell you're related," he quipped as the fire blazed brighter again.

The Doctor and Rose made their entrance with far more grace than their children, simply strolling out of the emerald flames as if they invented the method of travel. Rose looked about with a huge smile, and her face lit up with dimples and excitement.

"It's like time travel all over again," she said in the Doctor's ear.

He grinned as they strolled over to Neville, who had stiffened to nervous attention in the presence of adults, as was his habit despite their numerous meetings through the secret tree house.

"This is marvellous," the Doctor crowed, admiring the white crown moulding, marble floors, and pastel floral wallpaper gleefully. "Mid to late eighteenth century, is it not, Mr Longbottom?"

Neville nodded and took the Doctor's offered hand.

"Yes, Sir. My Great, Great Grandfather Alden Wesley Alderic Burke Longbottom was an innovator of wizarding architecture. Gran told me he and his friend, Mr John Nash, developed this style together. It became very popular among a lot of households and businesses after they remodelled Longbottom Manor."

The Doctor hooted and beamed about.

"Marvellous," he hummed. "John Nash- Really wonderful!"

Rose shooed her husband out of the way and bent to kiss Neville's cheek.

"Well, it's wonderful finally meeting you face-to-face. I can't tell you how grateful we are you've been looking after Harry for us."

The boy blushed maroon. It wasn't often a beautiful woman kissed him, let alone one wearing most modern robe with a square, low neckline that revealing a creamy expanse of tantalising décolletage. He felt Harry's elbow nudge his arm and realised belatedly he was still expected to respond, even while thoroughly embarrassed.

"It's no problem," Neville squeaked. "Harry's been looking out for me, too."

"Good," she said, still gently smiling.

She winked and took her son's arm as the Doctor corralled their daughter.

"We'll see you in the ballroom, I hope."

"Yes, Ma'am," the boy croaked.

Rose giggled as she led her children out of the reception room and down an equally luxurious corridor toward the sound of low chatter, clinking crystal, and sweeping chamber music. The Doctor offered Rose his arm as they approached the open double doors to the ballroom, and Harry traded smoothly with him to take Jenny's little gloved hand and guide it to the crease of his elbow. She pouted at little. She hated getting dressed up for any reason, and hated formality worse.

"Remember," Harry reminded her seriously. "You're in disguise, and mum and dad said you could eat all the cake and ice cream you can stand."

"What if wizards don't do cake and ice cream at parties?" she whigned back.

"Then I promise I'll point you out to all the sweets they _do_ have."

As chance would have it, however, Jenny had little to worry about.

The ballroom crowded already full to bursting when they entered. A few people danced over the polished parquet floor while the patterns in the wood changed in subtle, smooth motions beneath their feet. Chandeliers dripping with crystals sent sparkling, flickering beams of light against the ecru walls and gold trimming. Soaring windows, framed in shining gold leaf, mirrored the sea of dancing, chatting, celebrating witches and wizards. Little crystal spheres containing ever-burning candles floated overhead like so many shimmering ice stars, refracting rainbows on the otherwise unadorned ceiling.

"Beautiful," the Doctor whispered.

"I _love _magic," Rose agreed.

"It's like in my book of fairytales," Jenny said with wide, awed eyes. "It's more amazing than Buckingham palace."

Harry smiled.

"Hogwarts is even better, even if it's not as fancy as this."

"Mr Smith!"

The family turned as a formidable looking woman marched toward them, austere in both her bearing and her appearance as the dark train of her Victorian gown and its matching robe of dark aubergine trimmed with black lace swept behind her. She wore a black-dyed ostrich plume in her white hair and a cunning look on her thin, wizened face.

"Madam Longbottom," the Doctor greeted, galling gracefully into a bow.

Rose smiled and took a slight step back as the old woman allowed her hand to be kissed.

"I have heard quite a lot from my grandson about you and your lovely family," she declared with precise enunciation. "Especially the young Mr Potter."

The Doctor smiled proudly.

"All good things, I hope," he said. "May I introduce my wife, Roselyn, my son, Harry, and my daughter, Jenny Renette?"

Harry performed a polite bow after his mum and Jenny rose from their respective curtsies.

"Indeed," said Madam Longbottom. "Very good things. Actually, I was quite intrigued to meet the people who've had such a profound effect on my Neville."

She surveyed them all with a cautious eye. Jenny stepped forward and tugged the woman's skirt. Augusta looked down at her with pursed lips.

"Yes, Jenny Renette?"

"Do I count Mrs Longbottom? I only just met Neville today."

The old woman raised a dark eyebrow and the Doctor and Rose tried not to smile.

"Why?" Augusta finally said. "Are you needed elsewhere?"

"Not really," Jenny openly admitted. "But I was promised sweets if I behaved, and I _am _behaving and I would much rather explore the desserts if that's alright."

"Precocious child," the woman said, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes despite her slightly sharp tone. "If I am so boring in my old age and curiosity, then, yes: you may. Dippy!"

A young house elf liveried in gold and white appeared at Augusta's knee. She bowed so low her nose nearly touched the curled toes of her long, narrow slippers.

"May Dippy be of service, Madam?"

The woman nodded and took Jenny's hand.

"I would like you to look after Miss Smith, please," she directed. "See that she's well stuffed with all the chocolate and sweeties she can manage."

The little elf bowed again.

"Yes, Madam. Dippy will take good care of little Mistress."

Jenny lit up and gave Augusta a hug about the knees before taking Dippy's hand.

"I'm Jenny," she told her. "Is your name really 'Dippy'? That's a wonderfully fun name!"

The little elf's eyes shimmered with adoration as she guided the little girl away. The adults and Harry smiled after her, and Augusta's stern visage softened slightly.

"I would have liked to have a granddaughter, or two, or a few more grandsons," she sighed. "You have a lovely family, Mr Smith."

The Doctor inclined his head in humble acceptance of the compliment.

"It's all my wife's doing," he assured the venerable woman.

Rose smiled and Augusta Longbottom thawed that much more. She granted them a small twitch of her lips and held herself high as she gestured to the stateliest of the many elegant seating areas around the edges of the room. Augusta led them to choose seats among an arrangement at the head of the hall, where a few settees of dark polished wood and rich burgundy brocade lay beneath a marble relief of the Longbottom family crest. As soon as the Doctor and Rose sat with Harry opposite them and Augusta in the centre, crystal flutes of champagne and a platter of elaborate hors d'oeuvres appeared on the low coffee table at the arrangement's centre.

"That's wonderful," Rose sighed as she put a few of the more imaginative treats on a fine silver and crystal plate.

"The Longbottom elves are the finest I have ever encountered or had the pleasure of knowing," Augusta said proudly. "I shall pass on your compliments."

"I've been wanting to ask someone," the Doctor said as he took a sip of champagne. "What _is_ the exact relationship between elves and humans? They weren't common in the Colonies, and finding literature about them seems an impossibility."

The Longbottom matriarch sniffed in distaste and sat a little straighter upon her throne-like chaise.

"I see you really _are_ newly introduced to society, despite your lordly bearing and dress," she said. "Most would be rather shocked at such a bald question."

The Doctor grinned as the corner of Augusta's mouth twitched. Harry shared a secret smile with his mum as he loaded up his plate. He could feel a new friendship building between the daunting old lady and his immutably mischievous dad.

"However," Augusta continued, "_I_ am happy to educate you on the matter, and never held with those wishy-washy fools content to discuss naught but the weather and the latest fashion trends."

She took a sip of champagne.

"First off, house elves are not the same as the elves of old, but the result of a very dark history. It is one not found in public works of literature due to shame and poor forethought. As the destruction of the old Elven Race came under criticism in the earlier part of the first century, those who opposed open discussion actively sought out what accounts remained and systematically burned them."

Rose frowned around a bite exceptional pâté.

"I don't like the sound of that," she said after blotting the corners of her mouth with her serviette. "House elves somehow came about from genocide?"

"Indeed," Augusta said darkly. "The Elven Race, the proper Elven Race, is closely related to that of the Veela of Eastern Europe as a type of Fae. They were winged beings of great intelligence, beauty, allurement, and, most of all, magic," she murmured. "Not unlike the muggle depiction of angels."

"In addition to performing the sort of magic common to house elves today, they also held sway over certain elements without wands, or spells, or incantations of any type."

"Ah," the Doctor sighed. "Wizards were jealous."

"Very," Augusta muttered. "They were envious and stupid to the highest degree. Unable to handle their own feelings of inferiority, despite the kindness and helpfulness of Elf-kind, a few evil men hatched a plan."

"Well," she sighed, interrupting herself. "I say a few, but it was probably hundreds of them, as much as it shames me to say so. The Elves never stood a chance. Elves were never many in number, and their people wandered from forest to forest across Europe and Asia with the changing of the seasons, so it was a simple matter for these men to attack."

The food in Harry's stomach suddenly felt heavy. He barely noticed when the settee shifted beside him with Neville's addition to their number.

"Elves were nonviolent beings, and were slow to fight even as the men slaughtered them. They tried to flee, or use reason. However, by the time they realised the wizards could not be reasoned with and would not be stopped by mere restraint, it was too late. The majority of their number lay dead, most of them females, as these were the most powerful elves and, therefore, the greatest threat to the wizards and most heavily hunted. The adult males went next. At the end of the bloodshed, only the children remained."

Harry felt horror and dread creeping through him with each of Augusta's words. He could not look up at his mother, who he knew would be the picture of distress and anger, or at his father, whose stony face could stop a charging dragon. Neville gave his shoulder a gentle, subtly reassuring nudge.

"I shall spare you the rest of the gruesome details, but these Elven children were tested, bonded and bred for the traits their slavers enjoyed best. Many of them were killed because they showed too much power or wilfulness. A few especially beautiful female elves were kept for other purposes, and the Veela race was born. They, thankfully, cultivated their magic and rebelled early in their history and became free from Wizard control.

"The remainder became the house elves you have seen: Kind, gentle beings with an aptitude for service, bound in that capacity by a magical contract invented to keep them obedient and reliant on wizards on pain of death."

A horrible quiet settled after her dire declaration, creating a bubble of disquiet on the edge of a magnificent celebration just beyond the little arrangement of settees. Harry heard the Doctor take a slow, deep breath through his nose.

"Augusta – May I call you Augusta?" he asked.

Madam Longbottom inclined her head.

"If you know all this, how can you _own_ house elves?"

The old woman gave a short, sardonic laugh.

"As I said, they serve on pain of death. They were magically _bound_ to service of wizards. To break such a contract, or to be forcibly dismissed from it, is to end the elf's life. How can I ask the elves I inherited _not _to serve, given that? And else, if I were to give the Longbottom elves to another estate, how could I ensure they would not be mistreated? The original contract gave no limitations to a wizard's power over his elves just as it gave elves no way to disobey without facing severe punishment." She paused, her face a cold mask of aged fury. "It is a perversion of morality, is it not?"

"So, there's nothing to be done," Rose breathed. "They die if they try to leave or–"

"They cannot leave," Augusta interrupted. "The contract forces them to engage in self-harm for even considering such a prospect. They may only leave their wizard families if they are let go, and unless they are bonded again post-haste, they are slowly driven to madness and death, all whilst suffering unimaginable pain."

"That's horrible," Harry whispered.

"Barbaric," Neville added thickly.

Harry's head jerked up. Neville remained bowed to hide the moisture in his eyes. Harry's chest swelled with pride for his wonderfully kind friend.

"There's nothing to be done?" the Doctor asked grimly.

Augusta patted his hand lightly.

"Only what I have already done. I treat the Longbottom elves with dignity and respect as members of our household, and I taught my son and grandson to do the same. I sit the Wizengamot and wait in hope of such a time that I might bring to bear new legislation forbidding the mistreatment of house elves."

"The Hogwarts elves," Harry began hesitantly. "They don't serve a family at all. How do they survive?"

"Very good observation, Mr Potter. Originally, the Hogwarts founders brought their personal elves to serve in the castle. The creation of the houses was, in part, a way to bond the elves to _Hogwarts_ herself, rather than to any one blood-bound family or individual," Madam Longbottom explained. "The original contract had two parts: the first forced servitude to wizards in general and the second bonded specific elves to a specific wizard or family of wizards. This allowed elves to be traded, bought, and sold, and as a side effect, allowed them to seek new households in the event of the family's extinction or in the case of dismissal."

"So," Neville reasoned, "Hogwarts elves serve _Hogwarts _wizards based on their houses."

"Very good, dear," Augusta said.

Neville smiled timidly and straightened a little.

"Exactly right. Anyone sorted by the Hat at any time in his or her life may call upon a Hogwarts elf, though they are only obliged to come if you are within the grounds or a current student or staff member."

Rose took up her champagne and drained the glass only for it to refill before it touched the table again. The Doctor raised his own flute and the others, Neville and Harry included, mirrored him.

"To the house elves and their sacrifice," he intoned. "May we find them a solution soon."

"To the house elves," Harry, Neville, and Rose agreed.

"Hear, hear," Augusta proclaimed.

The adults drank deeply while the boys sipped the crisp, slightly floral champagne.

"Harry! Neville!"

They turned as Daphne and Hermione strolled toward them arm-in-arm, trailed by the formally dressed Grangers and a pair so elegant they could only be Daphne's family. The boys and Harry's parents stood to greet the newcomers.

"Grandmother," Neville pronounced, gesturing to Hermione's parents. "These are Mr and Mrs Granger of Crawley, and their daughter, Miss Hermione Granger."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Madam Longbottom said, nodding to them all before turning her gaze to the uniquely beautiful lady and dashing gentleman behind them. "Lady Greengrass, Mr Montague, do come meet the Smiths. Neville, Harry, you do these young ladies a disservice by remaining here. In any case, your seats are required."

The boys obligingly took their leave, both happy to shed the remaining gloom of the previous conversation in lieu of lighter company. Augusta's mouth turned upward in a small smile as the four children walked away.

"I shall have to invite you to stay sometime, Mr and Mrs Smith," she declared, fixing the parents with a piercing stare. "And yours as well, Mr and Mrs Granger. Your children have had a most excellent effect on my Neville. Before that boy left for school, he would never have ventured out of his chair. I rather worried I failed somewhere in his upbringing, so shy and reserved was he."

Rose beamed after her son and the Doctor squeezed her hand.

"At your leisure, Madam," he agreed. "Before Harry went met Neville, we were afraid he'd never find a good mate."

Neville, Hermione, Daphne and Harry made their way to one of the cocktail tables on the other side of the ballroom, near the wall of windows and French doors that lay opened out to the marble terrace and the lush gardens beyond. More of the guests had started dancing and many, having imbibed more than enough champagne, performed feats of beautiful magic as they waltzed. One witch directed the movements of a unicorn constructed entirely of silvery light as she twirled about the floor with her husband. Neville rolled his eyes as he slid into a bow-legged chair. Harry watched in amusement as its spindle legs shivered and straightened to lift its passenger to a height more appropriate for the tall table.

"Wizards can't help but show off when they get together," Daphne quipped as she, too, picked an elevator stool.

"I love magic," Hermione giggled.

Her chair took a little longer to respond, and had to be tickled in the right spot before it would straighten out.

"It's so whimsical," Harry agreed, examining the solid ice menu in the centre of their table. "Aren't any of you hungry? I feel as if I'd go for one of those rock cakes you were telling me about."

Daphne wrinkled her nose.

"Don't sound be vulgar. Just tell the menu what you want."

"Minced lamb pies, please?" Harry asked the sheet of ice, feeling very silly.

To his delight, however, a crystal platter of artfully arranged pastries topped with fresh mint appeared. Directed by elf magic, Harry felt sure, the frosty menu floated to hover just out of the way, and the platter slid gracefully to take its spot at the centre of the table. He ate one of the miniature pies and nearly groaned at the sweet and savoury flavour. Hermione and Daphne, apparently too tempted to resist, each took one while Neville happily loaded his plate.

"Oh," Hermione sighed. "That's delightful."

"Yes, excellent choice," Daphne

Harry couldn't speak. He steadily ate five of the little things before his hunger and craving were sated enough to allow such mundane activities.

"So," he finally managed. "Your gran throws one of these every year?"

Neville ducked as a firework, shaped like a fiery sparrow, flew over his head and back toward the dance floor. It climbed toward the ceiling where it exploded noiselessly to rain shimmering sparks over the dancers below.

"No, actually. This is the first one since I was eight or so. She doesn't like people coming here, anymore, but she wanted an excuse to meet you and your mum and dad."

"I expect there's some political reasons behind it, too," Daphne commented. "Just from looking at the guests, I can tell she's hoping to reinforce some old alliances and make some new ones."

Their host looked across the dance floor in mild surprise.

"Oh. I guess you're right. She wouldn't have invited Rookwood, otherwise."

"I hate politics," Hermione muttered. "It's requires too much sneakiness."

Harry and Daphne laughed.

"Don't fib," she reprimanded. "I know better than anyone you've got as many Slytherin tendencies as I do."

"Oh, hush," the Hufflepuff retorted. "Just because I understand it and have the ability to wield it doesn't mean I'd everwant to."

"Lie to your self all you like. That's your business," the blonde girl dismissed with a smirk. "Harry, I demand you dance with me. You _do_ know how to dance, don't you?"

Despite Harry's protests of limited practice and ability, however, he could not shake his housemate from her course of action. A moment later, with Hermione and Neville chortling unhelpfully in their wake, he found himself dragged to the dance floor. Unwilling to put a damper on the evening for his friend, Harry commenced in leading Daphne on a lively fox trot through the ballroom in time to the unfamiliar wizarding tune. Neville and Hermione joined them after a while in a more sedate waltz.

On the fringes of the ballroom, Jenny, fingers only clean of chocolate due to Dippy's attentive efforts and magic, chattered happily with her new pointy-eared friend.

"Do you think you could come visit me sometimes, Dippy?" Jenny asked as she chased a rather large éclair with her third hot cocoa of the evening.

The little elf grinned and passed the little human girl the serviette, which she obediently used to rid herself of her foamy whipped cream moustache.

"Dippy would like that very much, Little Miss," she gushed. "Dippy loves children very much, and Little Misstress Jenny is very, very sweet and fun."

"Really?" Jenny giggled. "Let's ask mum and dad and Mrs Longbottom later, okay?"

"We shall ask Madam before you go. Dippy promises."

Jenny clapped as someone among the partygoers conjured several dozen vibrantly blue butterflies to flutter overhead.

"Let's go dance!" the child exclaimed. "It looks like a lot of fun!"

Dippy, giggling as if she were doing something decidedly not allowed, happily allowed the little girl to lead her on a wild, twirling dance around the room. They only stopped when the girl, exhausted after so much caffeine, sugar and activity, slumped onto a cushy chaise lounge in the corner of the room. Dippy settled in to watch over her as the clock ticked toward midnight and the countdown began. Even the cacophony of a hundred wizards setting off fireworks and sparks and bangs couldn't wake the little girl. Or, it wouldn't have, even if Dippy hadn't put up a noise cancelling charm for her darling charge.

* * *

**3 January 2013**

Harry slid the compartment door closed after Draco so quickly that the latter boy had to jerk his trunk across the threshold to avoid getting caught. Neville helped him levitate it to a wrack before inviting the boy to join him on the wide, plush seat. Draco gave the Gryffindor an odd look, but accepted the invitation to sit across the girls opposite. Harry retook his spot by the window and stared long and hard at the compartment door while his friends exchanged polite greetings and small talk. He breathed deep, and his nose scrunched as the taste of the train's and his friends' magic filled his mouth. With his exhale he seized hold of the door's built-in enchantments the wood, glass and steel practically hummed the energy of his intent. The lock clicked, the window darkened, the sound of the other students in the hall cut off. Harry opened his eyes to find everyone staring at the portal in surprise. A small jolt signalled the train pulling away from the platform.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Neville asked.

"I've never heard about anything like that," Daphne said.

"_You're_ doing wandless magic," Draco whispered.

Harry belatedly realized the Slytherins had been previously unaware of that particular talent and grimaced.

"How is that possible?" Daphne demanded.

"Easy," he promised. "I'll teach you if you want. What I'm going to tell you is much harder, which is why I eavesdropper-proofed the door."

"What can be more interesting than an eleven-year-old doing wandless magic?" Daphne asked doubtfully.

"Harry taught me how over the holidays," Hermione said. "It's really not that difficult. It just takes a lot of focus and practice."

"Yes," Harry snapped, and the stress of the previous term, which he had fastidiously tamped down until he could deal with it at home, bled into the words. "Wandless magic is wonderful, and I promise we'll get into it. In case you've forgotten, there's an unknown thief capable of breaking Gringotts skulking about Hogwarts who's _also_ trying to kill me for unknown reasons right under Dumbledore's nose, so let's please move on."

His friends finally fell quiet and gave him their undivided attention. Draco shifted nervously in his seat.

"Before we left for the holidays, we figured out the thief's prize. The philosopher's stone can transmute unlimited gold from any mineral, and also yields the Elixir of Life. In other words, we're nowhere closer to knowing who's pulling Quirrell's strings. _Anyone_ would want that."

The others nodded. Harry met each of their gazes before spreading his hands in an invitation.

"Your thoughts?"

"It has to be someone _extremely_ powerful and equally desperate," Hermione immediately asserted. "Hogwarts is supposed to be impenetrable, and Headmaster Dumbledore put the fear of God in You-Know-Who himself, so I can't imagine anyone would _want_ to go after anything under the castle's wards if they had another option."

Daphne nodded slowly.

"That's true," she agreed. "Information about Flamel and his stone is widely available if one knows where to look, so it would make more sense to wait until the alchemist needed to withdraw the stone and steal it directly from its owner, rather than risk Gringotts' guards."

Harry rummaged in his school bag and withdrew his much-abused journal, where he had begun keeping notes on their investigation after the attempt on his life. The others paused to ponder the girls' assertions, while Harry flipped through his notebook's most recent entries. Draco watched him with growing trepidation as he mulled over the facts gathered over the last several months. He groaned as his friends' verbalisation of their discoveries, layered on top of the notes for his last discussion on his parents' research, wove together in a horrible conclusion. With a sigh, he realised his parents probably knew already that he would puzzle it out for himself during this trip, hence their instructions to visit them in the tree house the next afternoon at lunch time.

"My mum and dad have been poking around since I got my letter," Harry finally informed them, interrupting their thoughts. "They were looking to find out why I was abandoned, among other things–"

Harry paused as varying expressions of distress and confusion swept his friends' faces, and he flushed a little at his admission.

" –Yes, I was abandoned. Anyway, they found some really disturbing information." he related. "They searched every record concerning the night my birth parents were murdered, and no matter where they looked, they never found _anything_ that said the Aurors or Hitwizards collected Voldemort's body or wand. They saw the memories of the Aurors assigned to cleaning everything up, and there wasn't even a robe."

Quiet reigned for several moments, and clever as they were, apprehension dawned over their faces. Malfoy blanched paler than he thought possible, Neville looked ill, and Daphne and Hermione wore matching expressions of horror.

"Who would want the Philosopher's Stone that badly _and_ have the power to break into Gringotts?" Draco muttered, his face bleached of any colour. "If it's _him_, of course he'd try to kill you, too, given the opportunity."

"You think…" Hermione whispered, unable, for a moment, to continue. "You really think it's You-Know-Who?"

Daphne shuddered. Neville bent to cradle his head between his knees. Draco, clearly panicking himself, gingerly patted the shivering Gryffindor on the back. Hermione and Daphne clutched one another's hands so tightly their knuckles seemed bleached and knobby against the rest of their skin.

"It would make sense," Hermione finally murmured. "Quirrell travelled abroad last year. If You-Know-Who was in hiding, they could have met by accident."

"This doesn't make any sense," Daphne moaned as she leaned back against her seat with her free hand on her forehead. "Why in all that is holy would Dumbledore bring the stone inside the castle? He or Flamel must have suspected something to warrant moving it, so surely he knows!"

"_Rubeus Hagrid_."

The snarl surprised the others. It sounded like a curse, hissed as it was through Draco's clenched teeth.

"You said 'advertisement'," Malfoy recalled in reference to their tree house deliberations in November. "We're missing the obvious again. It's a _trap_. Dumbledore must know everything we do. He's fought the Dark Lord more than once. He and Flamel concocted this mess to lure _him_ here, beneath the most powerful wards in Europe, to capture or finish him when his puppet fails."

The gas lamps mounted to either wall of the compartment flickered a little as the train barrelled around a sharp turn, and their luggage rattled loudly against the wracks overhead. Trevor, Neville's toad, croaked inside the travel terrarium Harry had gifted the other boy for the holidays. The children seemed locked in varying stages of disbelief and debilitating fear. Harry felt the anxiety creeping into his gut again and forced himself to breathe even, deep breaths while focusing on the calm he wanted to achieve. He put a bit of magic behind it and felt his friends relax with him in slow degrees.

"That's insane," Hermione spluttered. "Why would Dumbledore, of all people, want to risk the students that way?"

"What are we going to do?" Neville whispered.

His slightly pudgy hands clenched at the hem of his jumper as he watched Harry's face.

"We need to talk to the headmaster," Hermione said in a rush. "Maybe if we tell him about Quirrell attacking your mind, he'll change tactics!"

"He already knows Quirrell's targeted me, though," Harry grumbled with his stare firmly fixed on his laces. "If he were worried about my health, or any of yours, he wouldn't have allowed him to stay. He probably thinks the chance to get Voldemort trumps everything else."

The children searched one another's faces for any sign of rebuttal, and finding none, allowed the weight of the situation to settle heavily on their slim young shoulders. Their faces slid from turbulence to resignation in time to the clack and rattle of the Express speeding its way toward the danger awaiting them.

"Does anyone else think this is mad?" Draco breathed in a strained sigh. "You belong in bloody Gryffindor, Potter. You're an idiot to come back to school."

"Yeah, I know," Harry snapped. "But if I don't, and it's him, and Dumbledore's plan doesn't work, I don't want to wake up months from now to an immortal Dark Lord pointing a wand at me and my family lying dead downstairs. Once is enough for me, thanks."

Nearly all of them shuddered at that.

"With me still at school, my dad and mum can stay in the know. When the trap's sprung, we can make sure they know to send the Aurors and Hitwizards in," he explained. "That way, Dumbledore will have reinforcements and some culpability in this mess. Better yet, even if Voldemort isn't caught with Quirrell, Law Enforcement will probably confiscate the stone as evidence. If he's survived this long without, I'm sure he'd scarper off rather risk a confrontation with a bunch of curse-happy wizards to make another attempt at it. He'd probably crawl back to whatever hole he slinked out of."

Hermione and Neville looked to one another, and Neville, who sat beside him, braced his shoulder.

"You know we'd keep your parents up to date even if you weren't there, right?" he asked gently. "You're in a lot more danger than any of us by going back."

Harry clasped Neville's hand and smiled at him appreciatively, but addressed everyone with his next words.

"I couldn't leave you lot to go it alone," he stated softly, but with conviction. "To make this work, I need to explore the third floor corridor to figure out how we can make sure we're notified when Quirrel gets in. The trap's probably built to slow him down and keep him there, so that in itself is going to be dangerous enough."

The young determined Slytherin carefully made eye contact with each of his friends and tried hard to keep his face void of emotion.

"I've told you everything I know about the situation. Do you still want to help me break in, just in case the stone _is_ actually there, or do you want to do the smart thing and avoid my company for the rest of the year?"

Sometimes, human beings are fearful and say or do insensible things. Sometimes, they are overly brave and make equally idiotic choices. In this instance, Harry fell into both categories. Having such wonderful friends, however, he was quickly convinced of the sheer stupidity of his suggestion. Hermione and Daphne proceeded to both smack and hug him, and they immediately followed their assault with a threat to feed him to the giant squid if he associated them with such cowardice or disloyalty ever again. Neville, green-faced but with a stiff upper lip, solemnly promised Harry he would never go into danger without him.

All eyes turned to the surly platinum blonde glaring at them from his spot leaning against the window.

"Go on, Draco," Daphne sighed, nudging the boy with the pointed toe of her dainty, pearly grey, suede ballet flat. "At worst, we'll all die horribly, probably by evisceration, and your father will become the next Dark Lord in his efforts to seek revenge against his old master."

Harry snorted a slightly hysterical laugh. Hermione and Neville looked at the girl with a mixture of disgust and disbelief on their faces.

Draco leaned forward and dropped his head into his hands with a much put-upon groan.

"Bugger it," he snarled, the sound slightly muffled for its floor-bound address. "I may as well gamble so long as you're up for the game. But if Harry dies before I do, I reserve the right to switch sides post-haste."

* * *

**26 January 2013 **

Even without a January Quidditch match to look forward to, Harry felt time already passing faster than he expected or wanted. With practices shortened (from drilling, flying strategy, manoeuvres and mock plays) to just drills and flying strategy, he found room on his Wednesdays and Saturdays to engage in other activities without inducing exhaustion. Rather than running only twice a week and on Sundays, Harry adopted an every-odd-day schedule religiously adhered to despite the roaring winter outside. The changeable room on the seventh floor obligingly added a mechanical treadmill of clockwork and ball bearings to the tree house. Hermione rather brilliantly altered his design by suggesting the inclusion of a self-turning bookstand complete with a self-inking dicta-quill. From then on, Harry accomplished both his homework and running simultaneously, thereby freeing at least an hour in his schedule for other pursuits. Meanwhile, Hermione and Neville threw themselves into research with the help of both the Doctor and Rose.

Hagrid's accidental slip about Fluffy the Cerberus led the kids to Iphigeneia Katsaros's _Greek Magical Tradition: Separating Fact from Legend_, Newt Scamander's _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, and Matilda Maddison's _Managing the Magical Managerie, _where they verified their hunch on the three-headed dog's weakness. The Doctor wholeheartedly approved of their thoroughness for questioning the mythology. A few days after, a handsome owl landed brought Hermione a magical music box whose crank kept turning until its user manually stopped it.

Daphne and Draco engaged in another aspect of their attack strategy, primarily by using Harry's saved hours to teach the others all the offensive spells they knew. In return, Harry tutored all his friends in wandless banishing and summoning. It took a lot of effort for the children to adopt the concept. After a lifetime of conditioning telling them wandless casting exclusively belonged to the ridiculously old and powerful, improvements came slowly. However, when a back-up method of defence could mean the difference between life and death, the idea of shelving their practice quickly became a non-option.

Finally, after nearly a month of practice, research, and strategising, the time came to put their plan into motion. On an obscenely early Saturday morning (or a _very_ late Friday night), after the last shift of night patrols left the corridors for a well-deserved sleep, five children crept from their beds, donned their most movement-friendly clothes, and made their way toward the seventh floor corridor. On the other side of the castle, the clock tower bells tolled 3 o'clock as Harry, Daphne, Draco, Neville and Hermione slipped into a door that, once closed, promptly disappeared as if it had never existed. Nursing mugs of pepper-up potion recently furnished by Harry's mum, they huddled in front of a screen for their final pre-reconnaissance conference in the tree house.

After short greetings from the Doctor and Rose and a few moments to ensure the steam had cleared from around the children's heads, they jumped straight to briefing the morning's mission.

"Did Harry give you all the magic dewibblyfiers?" the former asked, referencing the stick-on magic nullification field he invented for Rose's protection.

They looked at him blankly, and he sighed loudly.

"_Sticky shields_, then? You're no fun."

The children situated before the television nodded or made sounds of assent without commenting on his mutters.

"And your emergency buttons?" Rose prompted.

All five first-years obligingly displayed the little baubles The Doctor had carefully made by hand over the last month. On one side, he cast the Gallifreyan character for 'escape' in a beautiful relief of concentric circles intersected by vectors and curves that to the untrained eye, looked like an abstract design. The other half of the mould permanently embedded a carefully arranged set of rune clusters that, when charged by magic, activated a powerful (and highly illegal) portkey capable of ripping through even Hogwart's most ancient wards by manipulating timespace in a way Wizards had not yet discovered for themselves. Once cooled, filed, cleaned and polished, the Time Lord heavily layered the coins with further anti-summoning, detection avoidance, anti-corrosion, and wand-toggled invisibility enchantments powered by specific characters in the runic cluster pressed into the metal itself. Once the mechanisms were in place to make the 'panic buttons' (as Rose dubbed them) functional, he plated the Slytherin contingent's badges with silver, Neville's with gold, and Hermione's with black tungsten carbide, thus hiding the runes completely. Afterward, he enamelled the recesses between the front side's raised lines with the children's corresponding house colours.

Draco wore his on a chain under his robes. It required skin contact to activate, and Harry's parents agreed it was a better option than any of his other ideas. Hermione and Daphne both chose to wear it as a bracelet, though the former chose to add it to the charms on an existing bracelet, and the latter opted to have a new one created specifically to showcase the piece's beauty. Neville followed the girls' example and owl-ordered a handsome leather band in which to house his medallion, which secured it like a slim watch above his left wrist. Harry, however, as the Doctor's guinea pig throughout the creation of the things, sought his father's help in creating a band and setting to make the little disc into a signet ring that he hadn't removed since receiving the finished product.

"Excellent," the Doctor approved after taking quick stock of the children's choices. "The activation key is _need_ and layered with both psychic and vital monitors."

Hermione made the same longingly frustrated sound she always did when confronted with a project she could not yet tackle due to her current level of learning or time constraints.

"If your vitals go significantly outside what they should be, or you both actively think and feel the need to escape, the portkey will activate and bring you to a safe house," Rose further explained. "If you ever use it, you'll find an outbound-only floo and enough provisions under stasis to last you a lifetime. Both the Doctor and I wear arms to let us know if anyone arrives, and we'll be there within moments."

"So, safety wise, I think we're as good as we're going to get," the Doctor concluded. "Now lets run through an inventory and equipment check."

"Music box?" Rose promptd.

"Check," the Hufflepuff smiled anxiously, pointing to Harry's bag of holding.

Neville fished in his pocket, withdrew a slip of paper, and nodded to the same satchel.

"Harry should have his cloak in his pocket–"

The Slytherin nodded and patted his left trouser pocket, and the Gryffindor looked back to the list.

"-And we packed all the things you sent us this week, along with the stuff you told us to get. We have a self-reeling endless rope, essence of dittany, stabilising potions, five pairs of dragonhide gloves, self-refilling canteen, alarm clock, cold-cut sandwiches, pens, an extra notebook, Harry's journal, a box of five undiluted doses of pepper-up potion, five squirt-guns loaded with instant paralysation potion, Harry's broom, two liberated school brooms, one box of instant time-lock baby bombs-"

The wizard-raised boy stumbled over the unfamiliar words. Hermione slowly shook her head at the absurdity and brilliance of some of their 'necessities'.

"Er- Vinyl gloves, a bag of bezoars, a sheet of ghosting tabs, and a pouch of five bluetooths. Shouldn't that be blue _teeth_?"

Harry and Hermione giggled.

"It's not grammatically correct, is it?" he asked hesitantly.

"We'll get to that in a minute," the Doctor promised.

"A magic-proofed Polaroid camera, one box of potion litmus papers, a packet of moist wipes, and a bag of glowy, auto-sticking marbles."

The Doctor clapped his hands together and waggled his eyebrows in anticipation.

"Molto bene!" he crowed. "You're all set, then. As to the bluetooths-"

He waited for Harry to summon the pouch from his satchel and pass the small, vaguely ear-shaped devices to his friends. The Doctor held up his own transmitter brass, copper, wood, leather and steel for the kids to see and slipped it over one ear. Harry and Hermione put theirs on first before helping their wizard-raised counterparts fit the wire-cored leather support securely around the shell of one ear, respectively.

"Hello Draco," the Doctor intoned. "This is the Doctor, over."

The boy flinched sideways and stared wide-eyed at the Doctor.

"I heard you twice!" he spluttered. "How did you do that?"

"Think of it like a two-way Wizarding wireless," Rose said for simplicity's sake. "It's kind of exactly how it works, except rather than having to 'tune in', you just say 'hello' followed by the name of the person you want to hear you. When you're done with your conversation, someone needs to say 'over' or you'll still be on with the person you called."

"So, like closing a floo connection?" Daphne hummed. "You could be rich, you know. Selling these things."

Rose beamed at the girl.

"That's a goal for another time, love."

"Is that everything?" the Doctor frowned, surveying the children. "I think that's everything."

"Thanks, Mum and Dad," Harry murmured, to which the others nodded their agreement. "Are you set up to receive the readings we're going to take?"

His parents' heads slid sideways out of the frame to reveal a shining command centre in the background. Wires ran from one monitor to another, and odd toggles, switches, joysticks and buttons covered a slim control panel that looked suspiciously like it had once belonged to Harry's old computer. The Doctor and Rose came back into view after hearing what they deemed the appropriate amount of appreciation, and nodded for Harry to send a test transmission from his new sonic scanner.

A _ding!_ declared its arrival, and after a quick peek over his shoulder to view the data, the Doctor sported a grin.

"Everything's alive and working," he verbally affirmed. "Are you lot ready?"

No one said anything for the butterflies in their bellies.

"Excellent," Rose said anyway, apparently reading their silence for the nervousness it was. "The ghosting tabs will keep you from accidentally tripping any alarms that are there already, but remember to start your scans when you reach the staircase. You'll do beautifully. Go ahead and stick on the tabs and give your communicators a check. The Doctor and I will keep an eye on the scans from here and update you if we notice anything odd. Remember: just go far as you reasonably can. The more we have mapped out, the better we can place our own activity monitors, but we can work with just doing the door, or even the stairwell, if we have to."

With restlessness and nerves rapidly building in his chest, Harry distributed the stickers and helped his friends test their connections to one another. When he looked up again, the screen rest blank and dark against the wall.

"All right?" he asked, looking around at his friends. "You can still pull out if you want."

"Oh, shut up, Harry," Neville sighed in gentle exasperation. "Let's go mess with a Dark Lord."

…

They arrived the third floor corridor's stairwell as the castle bells rang the quarter-hour. Harry and his subtly humming sonic scanner led their ascent up the stone steps, taking it one riser at a time in a methodical sweep. Holding it by its brushed silver edges, he passed the clear screen over everything as they approached. Twice on the way to the landing ahead, the device's low frequency thrum intensified to a reedy, metallic sort of whirr that Harry found comforting in its familiarity and the others thought decidedly strange. At these two points, blue light suffused the scanner's clear glass viewer and coalesced in a precise grid, and a red dot marked the exact origin of the ward or spell they passed. They found another ward stuck to the door's handle itself, and quickly determined no other enchantments remained. Daphne and Draco stepped forward. She cast a lubricating charm at the door's hinges and locking mechanism, and he cast the _alohamora_. The bolt slid quietly from its housing with a couple of barely-audible clicks.

"Whatever's past Fluffy is meant to slow down a Dark Lord," Harry whispered urgently. "Keep your radios on."

His friends' serious expressions relayed their understanding, and he steeled himself, for what would come.

"Hello, Doctor."

A soft buzz sounded in the boy's ear.

"Hello, Jemmy," his dad said cheerily. "Getting ready to head in?"

"Yeah," Harry confirmed while Neville and Hermione dug in his bag for the music box and the water pistols. "Be careful. Hold on a tic."

The hum emanating from the scanner buzzed a little louder before dying off completely.

"Your sonic's going to be running silent from here on in," the Doctor advised him. "Just go slowly, and I'll let you know if I notice anything especially interesting. Don't forget the photos."

"'Kay," Harry breathed and directed a weak smile at Daphne and Draco.

They stood on either side of the door with their water pistols in their pockets and a wand held loosely in the other.

"Thanks for watching the entrance, you two," he said as he pulled his satchel back over his shoulder.

Neville and Hermione waited at the ready: Neville with the music box and wand in hand, set to play at the touch of his magic, and she with her ear to the keyhole, her squirt gun in one hand, her wand in the other, and her wild hair carefully plaited halfway down her back. With a whispered 'good luck,' Daphne opened the door, and Harry rushed in with the other two on his heels.

The door swung silently shut behind them, and the Cerberus's loud snores cut abruptly off. Neville, having already seen the towering beast with its mad, rolling eyes and three snarling mouths filled with massive yellow fangs, did not hesitate to wrench open the music box's lid while simultaneously jabbing it with his wand.

_Claire d'Lune_ began playing across its shimmering tines, and the Cerberus, as the texts they pored over promised, drooped and curled up with one great, sofa-sized paw cast over the trap door.

"I think Fluffy must be here purely to scare students away from investigating further," Hermione whispered as they jointly levitated the dog's heavy paw away from their goal. "I don't think most people would even notice the door."

"It must be all the teeth," Neville muttered as he and Harry pulled open the heavy trapdoor.

As soon as it opened, Harry took his scanner out again and ran it over the door, the hole, and even levitated down deeper and deeper until he felt it slipping out of his control.

He stepped back once he'd brought it out again, and Hermione and Neville threw their most powerful _lumos_ charms into the deep dark below. Meanwhile, Harry looked through the results of the scan he had taken. While his friends attempted other means of garnering information on the pit, as Harry began thinking of it, he started the scanner on its analysis, stuck it in his pocket, and withdrew the Polaroid from his bag to snap a photo of Fluffy while the device did its work. A soft _click_ and a faint echo broke the silence.

"Four seconds," Neville reported. "But where did it go?"

"Maybe it rolled away," Harry suggested as he looked into the blackness. "Try another."

Hermione watched as the pit's darkness swallowed a second glowing marble, and huffed in frustration when she distinctly heard it _click_ and echo against the floor below. Neville shook his head.

"That's not possible," the Hermione agreed with her friends' look of consternation. "That was eleven seconds by my watch."

The scanner blinked bright blue through the fabric of his pocket, and Harry quickly took it in hand.

"It's a pocket of spacetime locked in a state of constant flux and wrapped up in a light-dampening field," He said after a moment of reading the results. "There's a thirty-foot drop into a circular room with a diameter of fifteen feet. It's got one arched exit that leads into a corridor, and there's also some sort of plant down there, but the Doctor's database doesn't have a match for it."

"What are its properties?" their resident herbological enthusiast prompted.

"Er-" the complex data output took a minute to decipher. "It's big, weighs about a thousand kilos, and it moves. Oh, and the temperature is approximately twelve degrees centigrade, so fairly cool for indoors."

"Sounds like devil's snare or something similar," Neville concluded.

"Do we go in?" Hermione said a little nervously.

"Yeah," Harry smiled as reassuringly as he could at his friends. "We'll be fine. It's going to be pitch black for the first few seconds, but as soon as we clear the light suppression field, we'll be fine."

The seeker mounted his broom and patiently waited for Neville, who had never quite recovered from his first flying lesson, to straddle the space behind him and light the most powerful _lumos_ he could muster. Once Hermione gingerly sat on her floating vehicle, Harry gently led the slow descent into the pit.

As soon as their heads cleared the trapdoor's edge, darkness devoured everything. Hermione whimpered, and Neville shook hard behind him. Although he knew what to expect, Harry could never have imagined the feeling. Nausea twisted in his gut, and he blinked several times just to make sure his eyes were still there.

"All right, Hermione?"

"Ye-yes," she stuttered. "I just can't wait to be off this broom."

Six seconds passed in which the children felt like their eyes would never work again, and then they hovered ten feet over the largest growth of devil's snare they had ever seen. Neville gasped in appreciation and not a little fear. Its tangled mass completely covered the floor. The slimmest ones, delicate threads of what could be mistaken for roots, netted the space between larger vines. The disturbance in the air triggered its interest, and its deathly quiet feelers turned skyward, unerringly guided toward them by the innumerable fine cilia covering its every aboveground surface.

"Bluebell flames!" Neville suggested. "They won't do damage, but it'll still shrink away out of instinct."

Harry had already summoned his wand from his holster and gladly rained little balls of blue and purple fire onto the ground below. Hermione, too focused on staying on her broom, let him canvass the space until the plant retreated, leaving only a few tendrils curled docilely in the cracks around the base of the curved wall.

"Good one," the Slytherin said appreciatively after bringing them to a gentle landing beside Hermione. "Everyone all right, still?"

The Hufflepuff's hands shook a little as she shoved her broom and Harry's back into their shared bag-of-holding, but she still managed a tremulous quirk of her lips. Since they already had readings of the chamber, they just took a few photos and performed a brief scan for further detection wards before walking together into the dim, cool corridor. Condensation and moss slicked the ancient walls, and their footsteps echoed strangely against the stone underfoot. The path sloped downward and curved east, as far as Harry could tell, but he would have to check the scanner's recordings later to be sure.

"That's where it got off to," Neville mumbled as they passed one of their marbles.

He gave it a nudge with his toe, and it shifted a little before re-adhering to the stone.

"We'll have to remember to summon them on our way out."

"Don't worry," Hermione whispered, drifting closer to the Gryffindor. "I charmed its pouch's label to keep a tally, so we'll know how many we need to get back. Although, the other two may have stuck to the devil's snare so they might be a lost cause."

Her hair was slowly but surely coming out of its tidy braid as she reacted to the heavy weight of magic pressing around them. Harry's mouth tasted heavily of ozone and several other flavours he could not distinguish.

"What's that?" he frowned.

"What's what?" Neville twitched and raised his wand ahead of him like a sword.

"It sounds like wind chimes," Hermione mused after straining her ears. "Definitely something metallic."

"It's-"

"-_Wings_," Harry finished as they rounded the corner. "And keys."

A cavernous space greeted them. As in the great hall, graceful gothic arches stretched from pearly grey walls to support a soaring vaulted ceiling. No windows interrupted the shimmering stone, but beautifully carved mandalas of scrolling runework more than compensated for their absence. Each incredible work of magic glowed with soft yellow light and power to illuminate every corner of the room. Through these shafts of luminescence flew several flocks of vibrantly coloured, winged keys that reflected sparkles of gold and silver against every surface.

"It's beautiful," Hermione murmured.

The Slytherin pressed the camera into her hands, charged Neville with his scanner, and turned his attention to the gigantic door on the other side of the beautiful hall. He rubbed a thumb across its filigreed lock, and stuck it in his mouth. Brass, lemons, earth and iron filled his senses along with the zing of electricity and the bite of something that made him want to retch.

"Is anyone else confused?" Harry asked after he sniffed at the wood and pressed his ear to the lock.

Hermione lowered the camera, and the undeveloped photo sticking out of its mouth disappeared as the charms the Doctor placed on it took effect. The girl worried the lower between her teeth as she cast her gaze around.

"A little," she admitted. "I assume you have to find the key to fit the lock, right?"

"Yes," Harry agreed. "But-"

"This seems way too easy," she finished.

"You know, it's creepy when you two do that, sometimes," Neville commented on his way to the door.

The scanner flashed here and there, and he paused a few times to allow it to collect more detailed data whenever it did.

"The only people I know who talk like that are Fred and George," he concluded once he reached them. "I think you'd give them a run for their money if the two of you and Daphne ever got into pranking."

Harry smiled, but Hermione's face portrayed no amusement at the idea and quite a lot of disapproval. The scanner blinked, and Harry once more pulled his broom from his bag.

"I don't know if those things are conjured or just transfigured, so be ready to take cover," he warned while eyeing the keys.

As soon as he left the ground, the lazily fluttering things sped to form potentially devastating shrapnel. While he honed in on his quarry, the other keys fiercely tried to defend it. Soon, they had him performing spiralling dives and treacherous loops in order to avoid injury, and although the keys that touched him immediately fell from the sky to clatter noisily onto the floor below, they left behind cuts, scrapes and bruises where they impacted. He heard Neville and Hermione respectively cheering and screaming in time to his aerial acrobatics.

Finally, he found his opening.

His fist wrapped tightly around the door's key, and he dove to outfly the thousands of metal slivers shooting after him. He threw himself over his broom to land, one hand clutching the vehicle and the other straining against the temporarily disabled key, a foot away from the door. Hermione promptly shoved it into the hole, but it seemed as soon as Harry's feet touched the ground, his pursuers lost interest. The lock clicked open, Hermione snapped a quick photo of the key, and the door swung open to admit the children to the Dark Lord's next obstacle.

Marble basins of oil and a hundred wall sconces blazed to life once they crossed the threshold. Faceless marble figures cast eerie shadows across the room. Polished, deadly looking weapons waited in still, gracefully carved hands. Harry felt small, and a little intimidated, but the nagging sensation in his belly twisted again.

"This can't be right," Neville muttered. "It's just a chess set."

"There's something really, really wrong here," Harry agreed.

Hermione surveyed the room with a severe stare.

"Hello Doctor?" she called. "Something's not right."

"Hello Hermione, Harry and Neville," the Doctor answered, bringing the boys into his transmission. "What's up?"

"It's a chess set," she said plaintively. "The last thing was a room with flying keys, and Harry had to catch the one to fit the door. I mean, he has a few minor cuts, but I don't think he's even bleeding anymore."

A beat of silence passed before she got an answer.

"The hope was for you lot _not_ to bleed at all," the Doctor said in exasperation. "Still, I think I get your point. If you still want to, I say go with it for now. Try clearing it. I have a hunch, but I'd like more data if you lot are up for it. What I've got so far's still a little… wibbly. Over."

"What does 'wibbly' even mean?" Hermione complained with the soft buzz of disconnection in her ear.

With the Doctor's advice in their ears, the children took their tools of observation in hand. Harry made notes in his pad about the things he sensed in the previous room and moved on to include what he noticed about the chessboard.

He heard Hermione taking photos again in the background while he examined the deep channels positioned on either side of the playing field. His skin tingled oddly.

"Nev, make sure you scan the trenches thoroughly," he called.

The boy's voice echoed a little, and he shuddered. The cool, damp air should not have allowed it to carry quite so far, and the sensation of it combined with the omnipresent whisper of magic against his skin and the humming in his eardrums heightened the feeling of unease in his belly. When they felt satisfied with the scanner's analysis, the photos, and the notes they had taken, the friends regrouped in the centre of the board.

"The pieces are all enchanted to move, just like regular chess pieces," Hermione relayed with a twitch of the device in her hand. "I think we just play our way across."

Neville tentatively turned to the black pieces, whose heads simultaneously turned to look at them.

Harry shivered and felt Hermione and Neville do the same.

"That's so creepy," he muttered.

"Erm-" the sandy-haired boy tried again. "Is that how this works?"

The queen's veiled, faceless head shook its denial. Her arm rose slowly with a sound of stone grinding against stone, and her fingers curled to point to each of the children and the places of her pieces in turn.

"I take it that means we need to replace some of the chessmen," Harry muttered. "Are either of you any good at chess?"

"Sorry, mate," Neville lamented. "Great Auntie Enid wallops me all the time."

Hermione simply shook her head.

"My mum and dad don't do board games, really, just Trivial Pursuit and card games."

Harry, who possessed average ability at the game, briefly contemplated attempting to fly across the chessboard. His imagination quickly concluded the white chess pieces and their faceless queen would likely rip him out of the sky, with the ceiling a slow as it was, and smash him into human jam. He expelled a long sigh.

"Fine. Let's see what we can do. I'm not very brilliant at this," he warned. "So keep an eye out in case I accidentally put you somewhere you shouldn't be or if you have an idea of their next moves."

With their words of assent, he approached the queen.

"All right, your majesty-"

He had tried to sound confident and a little sarcastic, but her height and facelessness twisted his voice before it left his mouth, so they words exited as respectfully as their meanings intended.

"-May I take your husband's place for the duration of the game?"

Her head tilted, and at its incline, the Black King dismounted his tall pedestal, leaving behind his sword. The marble weapon stood straight up from the front of the stone pillar, forcibly reminding Harry of _The Sword in the Stone_. He quickly slid around the Queen's base and paused beside his vehicle. The edge stood much taller than him.

"Er-" he turned to the king, who had waited. "Mind giving me a lift?"

The chessman bent fluidly and offered his replacement a hand the size of a serving platter. The boy gingerly stepped into the King's palm and crouched to clutch the wrist attached as it lifted him to the plinth's edge. From his perch, Harry could see over the other pieces' heads and easily surveyed the board. Hermione and Neville took the places of his bishops, and the game began.

A white pawn marched forward two spaces with his poleaxe held at the ready in his hands. Harry halted his advance with his own pawn. He played aggressively, and it wasn't long until the first white pieces lay brutally destroyed and dragged into the trenches at either side of the board. The White King's side, however, fought harder with each piece lost.

"Pawn to D-four!"

Their opponent's last castle fell with a great explosion of rubble and dust, and the black pawns made quick work of dragging its remains from the field. Very few white pieces remained aside from the king. The lonely queen's head, ensconced in the folds of her veil, turned to face Harry from her place in the row behind him and to the right. The white king, cornered by Harry's knights, stoically moved into the only space left to him. The two white pawns and knight remaining shuddered.

Hermione poised to strike.

"Bishop to C-two!"

She strode purposefully forward, and the white king threw down his crown to land, cracked, at her feet.

"Well played," Neville breathed while he watched the remaining chessmen clear a path to the door.

"Thanks," Harry grunted as he shimmied down from his seat.

He joined Hermione on the edge of the board, and the heavy bronze door previously barring their way swung open.

A horrible stench filled their nostrils.

"Oh no," the Slytherin moaned. "Not again!"

"Look out!"

Harry lunged out of the way as an enormous club demolished the spot he had previously occupied. The door buckled under the weight, forced closed against their exit. Hermione screamed. The sound echoed through the roughly carved cavern, its horrified sound warping, and the troll spun to run at her.

"Shut up, 'Mione! It's sensitive to sound!" Harry hissed as he tried to aim his wand at its club.

The spells, however, seemed to bounce off.

"Shite!"

The troll turned again at the yell, his grubby hands clamped over its ears.

"Shoot it!" Neville called urgently. "The squirty things!"

Even the magically enhanced water pistols, however, had no effect. The potion splashed harmlessly against the troll's knobbly flesh, and it kept up its attempts to kill them all.

"The club's got to be enchanted to reflect spells," Harry said between his teeth as he ran through the Troll's legs to miss another swing of the club.

"Well, what are we supposed to do?" Hermione shrieked as she lobbed bit of rock at it to keep the thing distracted from chasing after her friend.

Neville gave a squeak, narrowly avoiding certain death by bludgeoning.

"Run!" he suggested.

"I don't think we can," Harry countered. "Our portkeys should have activated by now, unless you lot aren't terrified, too!"

He dropped and rolled out of the way of a grasping fist the size of a rubbish bin, and the trolls wild, beady eyes focused on him again. It bounded after him, its long arms flailing-

"Oh!" Harry gasped, running through its legs again. "Oh, I'm thick! Totally stupid"

He spun and stood his ground as the troll lumbered forward. Harry reached across his body, and the buckles holding his bag closed obligingly undid themselves unclipped. He pulled the broom from its unending depths, mounting it just as the beast's club came down again.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed.

Harry flew straight at the troll's head. The creature's maddened, terrified eyes followed him desperately, and Harry, keeping his seat purely by the strength of his legs, pressed his palms to its bald skull. The troll stilled. Harry closed his eyes.

A troll's mind isn't full of very much, but it is capable of more conscious thought than people give them credit for. Harry thought it was comparable to a very young child or a lower level primate. There was rage, to be sure, but it wasn't the primary motivator for the fearsome creature. Fear ruled its mind, fuelled by the instinct to defend its territory and the fierce, fierce desire to keep on living.

"Sorry," Harry whispered. "I'm slow sometimes. Do you mind if we pass? We promise we won't yell or shoot the lights at you anymore."

"Harry?" Neville choked.

"They got him in here without tearing the castle apart," the boy answered in a low murmur. "Something this big, it'd take all the teachers to stun and transport it. But it'd be inconvenient to keep stunning it in teams while they set this place up. I thought there might be a way to communicate with it."

"How are you doing that?" Hermione whispered anxiously, wringing her hands. "What are you doing?"

"I think it's Legilimency," Neville answered. "Magical mind arts. They're really hard, though, and super rare."

"Thanks, big guy," Harry murmured.

A moment later he allowed his broom to drift gently toward the ground. The troll dropped to sit in place and watched them warily, but it didn't try to attack them again.

"I don't know about that," Harry sighed as he sat heavily.

His hands were still shaking, and his heart as if it were trying to flee his chest.

"Dad just started teaching me really early."

"Well, I can occlude, too. Most pureblood families teach their kids," Neville disagreed. "But very few people manage legilimency."

Harry breathed a soft laugh as he hung his head between his knees. He very much felt like he might puke. Trolls _stank_ and he realized, belatedly, that he had been well on his way to hyperventilation.

"I think wizards are stunted by their lack of imagination and drive," he managed after a moment. "Dad didn't know whether it was possible or not. He just tried, and it worked. Kind of like my wandless magic."

"Either way, we need a way out of here," Hermione hissed urgently. "The door's buckled in."

"Yeah, I know." Harry acknowledged. "Just a sec. Hello Doctor?"

Hermione and Neville helped him to his feet and they slowly went to survey the damage.

"Hello Jemmy, I'm here," he said. "What happened?"

"Lots," Harry said tiredly. "I think we're stuck. We sort of managed to break the door, and the portkeys didn't work."

He heard the Doctor mutter a curse, followed by a shuffling sound and several beeping and clicking noises.

"First, are you all right? Neville and Hermione, too?"

Harry looked around at them and nodded unconsciously.

"Yeah. Bumps and bruises, but not bad."

"Good. Also, really, really not good, responding to the panic thingy," the Doctor hummed. "Ok, so the room you're in now, what's the spanner say about it?"

Harry held out his hand for the device, and Hermione fished it from the pocket of her jeans for him. Its face flashed with unintelligible numbers and characters in a code he couldn't understand.

"Aside from the area, heat scans and vital readings, it looks like a load of nonsense, at least to me," he answered after a few moments of trying to make it give him something in recognisable characters after reading the initial analysis.

"Right."

Harry heard another series of computer-y sounds.

"Take it out of passive scanning mode and set it to psychic targeting. I'm going to fiddle with things from my end. Just do a walk around the room."

A few swipes and taps of his fingers later, a blue light emitted from one end of the rectangular device, and Harry heard the familiar, comforting hum of his dad's sonic screwdriver over his earpiece. He paced the length of the room, walking a grid, while the troll followed him with anxious eyes. It looked really young despite its enormous height.

"Huh," the Doctor said after a few moments. "I made a miscalculation with those panic buttons. You've slipped dimensional planes on me. By all accounts, I shouldn't be able to receive your signal at all, and we shouldn't be talking, but I'll worry about that later. Anyway, the buttons fold timespace like a big ole slinky and travel straight through the middle, but they're only meant to operate within one dimension. The things I'm seeing indicate basically what a wormhole's supposed to look like on the inside, and that's not supposed to be possible, but again, I'm really trying to worry about that later."

It took a moment for the Doctor's son to absorb the rambling half-explanation, and he still could not understand the majority. 'Slipped dimensional planes' sounded bad, though, in the extreme.

"Should we keep going?" Harry whispered, gulping down fear.

"No, absolutely not. You won't be going back into that corridor until I unravel said nonsense," his dad said without pause. "Give the broken door a go-over. If we're lucky, we can fix it and you can leave."

The boy followed his instructions and made a small sound of relief.

"It doesn't look like there are any enchantments that'd get in the way of fixing it and leaving," he explained both to his friends and father. "I think _reparo_ should work."

"Agreed. _Do not_ advance," the Doctor directed. "I'll leave you to it. I need to head into the office to suss the transdimensional madness you've stumbled into. Do you think you've got it from here?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I'm _so_ proud of you, Jemmy."

The words filled the boy's chest with warmth, and he felt a little less panicky.

"Call your mum if you need anything. I'll be at Torchwood, over."

"Right," Harry breathed after the earpiece buzzed and went silent. "Dad said to try _reparo_ on everything. There aren't many enchantments in here aside from a few alarm wards and a species-specific blocking field in the doorway itself."

Harry and Neville looked at him a little doubtfully.

"What about the troll?" the latter asked nervously.

Said troll grunted a little and stopped picking at the moss-like growth in its dark grey, craggy teeth.

"Er-"

"Instant time-lock baby bombs," Hermione suggested.

"You two are so brilliant," Harry sighed with deep appreciation lacing every word. "I'll take care of Bob, over there, and as soon as he's stuck, I'll come help with the damage."

The boy summoned the bag of time-lock bubble generators and slowly picked his way around the rubble of the ruined floor to the troll's side.

"Just me again," he murmured gently.

He showed his empty right hand while creeping slowly closer, until the horribly smelly troll allowed Harry's fingers to brush against its brow.

"Just me…"

Bob the troll grunted, and Harry searched his eyes as he let his magic flow over his palm like a glove that seemed to sooth the magic-sensitive creature. His left hand gripped the button carefully, and slowly, so as not to frighten the beast and trigger a violent defence, brought it up behind the troll's potato-shaped head. His thumb depressed the button as soon as the device's body touched the troll's skin, and a shimmering field erupted from tit to encase Bob within. Harry stepped back, and the troll gave no indication of movement or awareness.

"Is it like an immobilising spell?" Hermione asked when he returned to the buckled door.

He shrugged and threw the most powerful repairing spell he knew at the damage, and the others quickly joined him. The pieces groaningly reassembled, unbent, and floated back to their places in the doorway, walls, and floor.

"I suppose so," he said. "I haven't tried an _immobulus_ to test the differences in mechanics. A time-lock field effectively stops the passage of time in a bubble of physical space. Time still flows normally around its boundaries, but inside, it's like we've put Bob on pause. He won't realise any time's passed when I turn it off again, and he's not aware of what's happening out here, right now. It'll feel like one moment slid straight into the next."

"Hmm," Hermione frowned as she swept her pale, vinewood wand over a ruined section of floor. "Maybe it's like an _immobulu_s charm and a stasis spell wrapped together?"

"That sounds about right."

With a metallic crunch, the bronze doors, restored to their solid, smooth, unblemished state, settled into its hinges and swung easily open. The chessboard beyond seemed to have repaired itself in their short absence, but the pieces stepped easily aside for them to pass. Exhausted and aching, the children mounted their brooms to fly the rest of the way back to the trapdoor. Harry idly pushed open doors ahead of them with a gesture of his hand, and soon they hovered over the devil's snare as Hermione slowly dispelled all but a small circle of her bluebell flames. A sweep of Harry's hand brought their missing sticky markers back to his satchel.

"How do we find our way out again?" Hermione said anxiously. "There's got to be twenty feet of darkness, and I don't remember if the trapdoor was directly in the centre or not."

"Don't worry," Harry reassured her. "We're in a magically warped space. The trapdoor covers the entire area of the ceiling from our perspective, so as long as you keep moving up, we'll make it out."

True to his word, with the seeker leading the way and Hermione straining to keep up with him by sound alone through the impenetrable, the group of reluctant explorers emerged again in Fluffy's chamber to the continued melody of Rose's favourite Debussy piece. They paused to clean the obvious dirt and grime from their skin and also to dab dittany on their many scrapes and cuts, helping each other for the ones they couldn't spot themselves. Soon enough, with the music box still open but in Hermione's grasp, they exited the corridor and rejoined their friends on the landing.

"What's wrong now?"

Daphne looked from each of her friends to the next, as if examining them for injures, and frowned.

"Nothing, really," Harry answered wearily. "The Doctor has a lot to work out, though."

"How could he have that much work already?"

Neville's tired face puckered in puzzlement.

"What do you mean, 'already'?" he muttered. "We've been gone for hours."

"No you haven't," Daphne asserted. "It's only been fifteen minutes."

Harry reached into his pocket and clicked open his fob watch. Its face read 4:15."

Hermione groaned and rubbed her forehead.

"I _hate_ what magic does to physics."


	13. The One Who Pulls the Strings

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: The One Who Pulls the Strings

* * *

**3 February 2013**

The children passed the final days of January free of responsibilities beyond those of a normal first year while the Doctor and Rose unravelled the data from the third floor corridor and developed their knowledge into a workable strategy. The beginning of February, however, marked a return to Harry's strict training schedule in an effort to keep him safe from the very real threat against his life. Still, than those studies and exercises, the start of his winter term felt almost relaxing compared to the previous months of stress and investigation. Harry's resultant improvement in mood confused him, at first, until Hermione compared it to a fear of the dark.

"Last term, you weren't sure _who_ was coming for you, _why_ they were doing so, and _what_ they were after," she reasoned. "You were stumbling around blind. Now, you know all those things and also have a plan to keep you safe _and also_ to foil the bad-guy's plans. You have a torch, a flamethrower, and a bag of infinite holding. Of _course_ you feel better."

One question still gnawed at them, however.

Dumbledore's responsibility for the current state of affairs was in no doubt; however, they were no closer to understanding why he would go to such lengths. His course of action seemed insensible to any of his duties.

As the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, his responsibilities included: maintaining law and order within magical Britain's governing body, setting the Wizengamot's agenda, and facilitating peaceful negotiations among factions in order to keep things running smoothly. In the event of the Minister of Magic's assassination or natural death while still in office, it was also his duty to ensure an election occurred as quickly as possible while running the country until the next Minister took his oaths.

The Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards could be likened to a representative to the Wizless world's United Nations. In this function, Dumbledore theoretically kept his country abreast of the goings-on in the Magical World at large, and also advocated his country's needs to other representatives in hopes of achieving stronger ties of international community.

The words "Grand Sorcerer" in his title simply referred to his personal achievement in his exploration of magic. The title served as recognition to his many talents, but also signified the expectation that in times of great peril, his would serve as a voice of reason and wisdom to which others might turn for guidance.

Finally, his duties as headmaster seemed self-explanatory. He was charged with leading his staff to provide for the welfare and advancement of his thousand-odd students. As Headmaster, he maintained responsibility to balance the school's budget, advocate for his charges to the School Board of Directors, enforce order and discipline, and ensure his students' safety above all other things. It was for this reason Hogwarts claimed the most powerful wards in all of Europe: generation upon generation of powerful sorcerers charged with her protection had added to their strength and complexity since the school's founding. The Doctor even theorised one could drop a nuclear device on them, and as long as the siege wards were active, Hogwarts would withstand the assault with no harm to those within her boundaries.

Of course, no one had tested magical methods of removing radioactive waste from water or soil, but the people within the wards would at least survive long enough to catch an emergency portkey to less hazardous climes.

In any case, when the Doctor and Rose compared notes on Dumbledore's actions with his stated and implied duties, they quickly determined the man could claim no good reason for the mad plan he apparently hatched.

It was not his job to try to capture or eliminate assumed-dead mass murderers, let alone their lackeys, nor was it his job to protect the personal property of a private individual. By any logic, he had violated every vow he probably took in accepting his many lauded positions, and the Doctor and Rose intended to bring him to task for his utter disregard toward a thousand children's safety.

"You really want to confront Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked a little worriedly.

She held deeply ingrained respect for order and regulation, and although she knew the Headmaster had erred most egregiously, she had been conditioned to fear an office such as his.

Rose smiled mischievously, and the Doctor's grin looked a little maniacal beneath his glinting eye and expressive brows.

"Don't worry, kids," she reassured them. "You lot did a bang-up job with everything. We've got a _very_ compelling case 'cause of it."

"That's right," her husband nodded. "By the time we get finished, your old headmaster's going to have very little choice but to play by our rules or spend a very, very long time in jail or paying off stiff fines."

Daphne and Draco, who were engaged in a game of exploding snap on the rug, made joint sounds of doubt.

"No, really," the Doctor reiterated.

The two Slytherins looked up at the screen sceptically.

"_Really,_" he rumbled, and his smile curled maliciously in the corners. "If he doesn't get in line and toe it after we confront him over this mess, we're going to give him hell."

"And if the Wizarding world doesn't deal with him," Rose added. "_We_ will, and they won't even remember he existed to retaliate."

Harry never remembered feeling safer or more loved in his life at the reassurance, despite the fact his potential murderer still taught within the castle at that very moment. His friends, on the other hand, seemed caught in varying stages of fear or disbelief. He didn't mind. They just didn't know the Doctor like he did.

"But-" he exclaimed enthusiastically, making Neville jump at his sudden volume and mood shift. "Before all that, we need to have a little chat with him to set up some ah…"

He frowned as he cast around for a word.

"Let's call them 'contingencies' for now," Rose suggested.

"Yes. Brilliant- 'Contingencies' for next year so as to avoid potential complications in the future," the Doctor finished.

"I've got the cloak," Harry offered, sensing the underling question. "Maybe I can sneak into his office and floo-call you, and you can come through?"

His dad shook his head.

"Won't work. You'd need a pass code, and since we're not keyed to the Hogwarts wards, we might get launched to Norway or something," he dismissed. "Though, I've been wondering why he gave you that cloak, in the first place."

"I sort of did, too," Harry admitted. "We also haven't addressed why the obstacles are so easy."

Daphne took a long sip of tea and cleared her throat. The Doctor and Rose peered at her expectantly.

"As to meeting Professor Dumbledore, why don't you just write him an invitation to start with? I'm sure he's just dying to know more about Harry Potter's adoptive parents," she shrugged. "_Everyone _is. I suggest a bistro in Diagon Alley, somewhere with lots of witnesses and no cover, whatsoever."

The Doctor grinned.

"You, my boy, pick excellent companions," he declared. "Now, to answer your question about the obstacles, I don't think, based on what we've seen so far from the data, that they were meant to impede anyone too much. They're more geared toward identifying the magic used near them from the spells cast to one's magical fingerprint, so to speak."

Hermione immediately gasped in alarm.

"Before you get too excited," Rose interjected. "The ghosting tabs will have hidden that part of any magic you cast down there. Also, we were able to see who's gone in before, and you weren't the first, which brings us to the dimensional wobbliness past the trapdoor."

Harry sat up straighter to match Hermione's intensely interested pose. Neville looked up from his essay on colour-change cantrips. Draco cast a stasis spell on their game to keep it from blowing up before he and Daphne got back to it.

"If Voldemort's as big, bad and scary as everyone says he is, the thing _I'd _use to trap him would be bigger, badder and scarier," the Doctor asserted with a gesture of his sonic screwdriver. "We _think_ the slipping down there happens because the corridor's meant, once it's identified it's got the right person, to charge a really, really, _really-_"

His eyes widened dramatically to relay the excitement he felt about his discovery as well as its scope.

"-Powerful prison. As in, the perfect prison, if such a thing's possible outside of fairytales. Anyhow, we think the enchantments beyond the trapdoor loosely connect several different dimensions. A lot of the runescapes we found seem to take the rift-energy generated by Hogwarts' wards and funnel it to this super-duper mousetrap thingy. The problem is, the power requirements for that sort of containment would leave the castle defenceless, possibly even bring it down since so much of it's supported by magic, so Dumbledore's went and made it so the runes pull a little power from many versions of Hogwarts, though I'm not sure _he_ knows that's what he's done. Wizards don't seem great at physics. In short, we can fix the panic buttons and then you'll be set to go in again and place our detectors as soon as everything's ready."

The Doctor gave this explanation within only a couple of breaths, so when he finished and surveyed his audience, their reaction was not nearly as satisfying as he hoped. They hadn't the time to process. Harry, at least, appeared appropriately awed and impressed. Hermione's face had crumpled in her efforts to match what the Doctor knew of the universe's inner workings to what she had already read in order to decipher the implications, and the wizard-raised kids looked entirely lost.

"Oh, you lot are no fun at _all_," he pouted.

"That is completely brilliant," Harry finally managed. "I don't understand how he can be that brilliant and so mad at the same time."

"Can't you?" Rose teased with a sideways look at her husband.

"Yeah, okay," the boy admitted with a roll of his eyes. "But Dad's crazy still makes sense in a very weird, abstract, round-about sort of way."

The man in question gaped at his wife and son in apparent betrayal and indignation.

"Oi, I'm right here, you know."

Daphne unfroze, blinked, and rubbed her forehead with a dainty hand.

"You people are utterly ridiculous."

…

Eventually, the conversation wandered back to Harry's cloak, at which point Rose and the Doctor admitted they had no idea as to his headmaster's motivations. By the time the children left the room for the evening, everyone agreed it would be a perfectly awful waste of an invisibility cloak if Harry _didn't _explore the castle's secret places, or at least try a few pranks, while rendered impervious to photons. With everything going on, they reasoned, it would be a pleasant distraction for them if nothing else.

Late that evening, after the castle's denizens retired to bed and lay dreaming, Harry summoned the cloak from his trunk's wardrobe compartment and disappeared beneath its fluid folds. The fabric shimmered and rippled like water from his perspective, and although he could see everything clearly beyond the subtle scintillation, cast not even a shadow as he passed beneath wall sconces and chandeliers.

Hogwarts by night felt as darkly mysterious as it did whimsically grand by daylight. Harry crept through the corridors slowly, careful of trodding on the cloak's trailing hem and mindful of the soft click of his leather-soled shoes. He idly thought he ought to look up a muffling charm before his next excursion. He had little luck _willing_ a bubble of quiet into ensconce him. Even with the subtle sound of his footsteps marking his passage, Harry crept by several patrolling ghosts, Peeves the poltergeist, and many whispering portraits to reach the portrait of the Pink Lady (as Harry preferred to call her) without alerting anyone to his presence.

The curvaceously plump figure snored delicately against the side of her frame. Her curls sprawled across her face, and her eyes twitched every so often as if she dreamed in her sleep. Harry resolved to conduct a more in-depth investigation on how portraits worked. He let the cloak slide down to reveal his head and coughed to wake the lounging lady.

"What? What's that?" she yawned with a wide stretch of her arms.

She straightened from her slouch, and her eyes widened a little at the sight before her.

"To whom does that head belong?"

The woman leaned forward to squint at him, and Harry withheld a laugh when she very nearly fell off her tiny velvet pouf with her efforts.

"Harry Potter," he whispered. "Do you think you could tell Neville Longbottom I'm here?"

"Who, boy?" the lady grumbled. "What sort of time is this? I should have someone call a prefect."

"Please don't, dear Lady," Harry begged. "Neville Longbottom's in the first-year boys' dorm, if you'll just go to him. It's important."

The woman huffed and rose, grumbling, from her seat. She walked beyond the edge of the frame, and a moment later the portrait swung open to reveal a very dishevelled, teddy bear pyjama-clad Neville beneath the arched portal.

"Harry," he mumbled bewilderedly at the sight of his floating head.

He tied the sash of his dressing gown and frowned.

"Is something the matter? What are you doing here?"

Harry grinned and fished in his pocket for a tiny phial of pepper-up. It wasn't a full dose, so it wouldn't keep the Gryffindor up longer than he wanted to be, but it would bring him to full alertness. Neville accepted it without questioning its contents and a moment later, a puff of steam left his ears and the last dregs of sleep fled from his face.

"I thought you might want to come exploring with me."

"Oh," Neville smiled sheepishly. "I thought you wanted to do that alone, or maybe take Draco."

"Trust me, it's suicide to attempt waking the prince from his beauty sleep," Harry said wryly. "'Sides, I wanted to do something fun with you."

The shy boy beamed, quickly joined Harry beneath the incredible cloak, and together the boys took off down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Neville breathed.

They had left the seventh floor and were quickly departing the areas they regularly visited for classes.

"I thought we could explore the East Wing. I've seen it from the outside while flying, but I don't think we've ever actually gone there."

The boys slowed as they came to a new staircase. It zigged and zagged, stretching up to the seventh floor and down all the way to the dungeons, if Harry gauged it correctly. The corridor they had taken opened up onto the fifth floor landing, and they turned to follow it into uncharted territory.

Harry looked around in quiet admiration. Though no sconce, torch or chandelier lit the way, the full moon outside cast its beams in bright, bluish shafts onto the smooth stone underfoot through floor-to-ceiling arched windows lining either wall. Frames holding blank or still-life canvases, faded tapestries, and smaller windows in brilliant stained panes interrupted the spaces between the glorious casements.

"There aren't any portraits," Neville quietly observed. "Have you seen any doors?"

"No," Harry hummed. "Maybe…"

He gently nudged Neville to step closer to the wall as they approached the next hanging. His arm slipped from beneath the cloak to lift the tapestry away.

Silvery eyes stared back at him.

Harry's teeth gnashed together against a scream, and he clapped a hand over Neville's mouth to cut his off, too.

The ghost came through the tapestry to look curiously at the place in midair where the arm disappeared.

"Come out, child," her soft, ringing voice gently commanded. "I shan't hurt you."

The boys commiserated in whispers before complying. Her lips curled in a small smile, and the nebulous wisps composing her form from the waist down coalesced in a sweeping skirt.

"Hello children," she whispered. "What business brings a Slytherin and Gryffindor together in these abandoned halls?"

Neville shifted anxiously, but Harry smiled. The woman's clothing – an ethereal pearl-grey gown with a wide neckline, a fitted bodice, and trailing skirt and sleeves – dated her somewhere in the early tenth century. Harry _really_ needed to get the Doctor in the castle somehow.

"I'm sorry if we're trespassing, my lady," he murmured. "We're just exploring."

"And for what purpose do you explore?"

"Curiosity and a little mischief," the Slytherin promptly replied. "We were just wondering why we haven't found any doors, actually. I thought this corridor had classrooms or something attached, which is why I checked your tapestry."

The silvery lady stepped around them and gestured to the nearest window.

"You were close, little snake," she whispered. "Continue on with my blessing, but be warned: This castle's many secrets are not all wondrous delight. Take care what you touch and where you enter. Much of the castle, let alone the East Wing, houses magicks long forgotten by the world."

She faded from visibility in a wisp of silvery smoke, and Neville breathed a sigh of relief.

"I thought my heart was going to stop," he admitted. "Why was she back there, anyway?"

"Who knows," Harry shrugged. "Do you want to keep going?"

The pyjama-clad boy smiled hesitantly.

"May as well."

Following the ghost's hint, Harry turned to one of the windows. Just as his fingertips _should _have met resistance, his hand went through the cool, suddenly warped surface as easily as they would through water. With a grin cast over his shoulder, he stepped into the hidden space. Neville followed close behind, and both stared around them in awe.

A round weathered table stood at the centre of the room surrounded by fourteen gilded, high-backed chairs, each carved with a different face. Fourteen swords lay pointing toward the table's centre, where a two-handled goblet shimmered pale gold in the moonlight. The wall beyond held a window identical in shape to the room's entrance, though much grander in size. Harry stepped carefully forward and took a quick scan with his sonic.

"_Wow_," he sighed.

Neville paused in his examination of the carved faces to look questioningly at his friend.

"These are _old_," Harry elaborated. "As old as the lady out there, probably, if not older."

"That's incredible," Neville murmured.

They lingered to look at everything the room had to offer, and though the dust lured them to brush away its thin veil, the boys wisely obeyed the mysterious lady's advice. Harry paused in the corridor after they stepped through the window, and Neville looked around curiously.

"Let's save some for later," Harry whispered. "We'll come out exploring every so often and take it slowly so we remember everything we find."

The Gryffindor's face lit up at the prospect, and Harry shared in his grin.

"Why don't we play a prank?"

"What sort of prank?"

Creeping quietly back into the castle's better known corridors, walkways and chambers, the boys wound their way down to the cellars, past a stack of man-sized barrels to stand before a still-life painting of fruit in a large, wooden bowl.

"What are we doing here?" Neville whispered.

Harry stood on tiptoe to tickle the pear nestled between a bunch of grapes and two plums. The fruit giggled, squirmed, and a moment later, a pear-shaped knob took its place. The boys pushed the portrait inward, and let the cloak fall. He stuffed it in his pocket, and as soon as they realised who arrived, the twenty-odd idle house elves sitting at the scrubbed tables nearby rushed forward.

"It's Harry Potter!"

"Harry Potter has come to visit!"

"Would Harry Potter like some cocoa?"

"We have his favourite treacle tart!"

Neville laughed incredulously as they vied around them in their efforts to greet and feed the boys.

"Is _this_ how you've been getting snacks for the room?" he said over the high-pitched voices.

"Oh yes," an elf came forward after shushing its friends.

The little being's ears flapped excitedly as it smoothed its pristine tea towel. Unlike its fellows, the elf wore a metal badge to fasten its garment.

"Hello, Beetie," Harry greeted. "I wanted to show my friend, Neville, the kitchens, but we also wondered if you lot would be up for a little joke?"

Tittering laughter swept the jolly little people, and the boys couldn't help but smile at their sweetness.

"What does Harry Potter have in mind?"

Harry plopped onto the floor, and the elves gathered close while Neville stood in bemusement among them.

"I wondered, could you possibly make a food taste like something else but smell and look the same?"

Some of the elves looked a little worried at the prospect of altering something so important.

"Elves can," Beetie allowed hesitantly. "But we would not do it with a _bad_ flavour. It would have to be other _good_ flavours."

"That's exactly what I want!" Harry enthused. "So when someone bites into a steak-and-kidney pie, they _taste_ strawberry cheesecake or some such."

Neville snorted.

"It'll be fun," the Slytherin defended. "It doesn't _hurt_ anyone, and the ingredients won't be any different."

The house elves conferred with one another for several moments, their excitement growing, until Beetie, who Harry best understood to be their Midnight Manager, shushed them all with waggling ears.

"The little witches and wizards will be so surprised!" Beetie laughed. "We shall do it. It shall be great fun. Now, would Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter and like some sweeties?"

Several almond-and-jam biscuits later, and with several serviette-wrapped nibbles in their pockets, the boys left the kitchens. They laughed and talked quietly while they made their way out of the cellars, past the main staircase, and toward Gryffindor tower. The pull of sleep weighed heavily, though, so they soon ran out of things to talk about and continued on in companionable silence. Harry's watch read nearly three in the morning.

"_Oooh,_ naughty, naughty."

The boys stopped short and turned in trepidation. Harry felt like he had accidentally swallowed an ice cube. They turned to find Peeves, a poltergeist with mean, orange little eyes and a nasty streak not even Snape could rival, hanging upside down behind them. He had forgotten to throw the cloak over them when they left the kitchens.

"What's Potty and Bottoms out of bed at so early an hour?" he sneered. "Getting into trouble?"

"Harry…" Neville said fearfully.

The Gryffindor was one of Peeves' favourite targets for his cruel jokes.

"Sorry, but we can't tell," Harry rushed. "The Bloody Baron contracted us for our help. You ought to ask him."

The little man flipped right side up to squint at them beadily.

"Peevesey thinks you're lying, he does. But-" he smiled evilly. "I'm a fair Peevesey. I'll let you go if you can eat a dungbomb."

Despite the name, dungbombs did not actually contain any dung. Their foul odour came as a natural by-product of the slimy potion within them. They were, in fact, completely harmless on a purely chemical level; however, the smell of even a small one was enough to overpower several open sewers.

Neville turned green and his face blanched.

"Er-" Harry began.

"Too late!"

The poltergeist pulled in a deep breath and bellowed.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED! RULEBREAKERS WANDERING THE CORRIDORS!"

"Run!"

Harry shoved his hand into his pocket to retrieve the cloak just as he heard the sounds of Filch, the cantankerous caretaker, approaching at a quick pace.

"Naughty, naughty!" Peeves called after them as the children disappeared from view. "Hiding that way's not fair, and you know it!"

"PEEVES!" the old man bellowed as he ran down the corridor toward the library. "You had better not be calling a false alarm, you li'l bastard!"

The grizzled man slid around a corner with an old grey tabby running at his side and a lantern held high above his head. Peeves cackled as he spun in midair.

"If you ask nice-like, I'll tell you where the little rats went off to."

"Tell me, you miserable twit, or I'll take my lamp to you!"

It was not the right thing to say. The poltergeist's face split in a wide, toothy grin, and a moment later, a horrible clanking and crashing echoed through the first floor. Torches blazed to life up and down the corridor as the suits of armour standing in their alcoves abandoned their pedestals in response to the apparition's summons.

"PEEVES!"

Neville and Harry's faces drained of colour. Filch had caught up to them, but if he could hear the thudding of their shoes against the flagstones he made no indication. The armour followed, chasing the caretaker down with all manner of weapons raised in their puppeteer's honour. Moving under the cloak, hindered by their need to stay close and hidden, the boys had no chance of escaping either the infuriated man or his pursuers.

Harry cast his eyes around for a way out and, by luck, spotted a chance for escape. A classroom door stood partly open, just wide enough that they might squeeze through without the caretaker or Peeves noticing. He tugged Neville's sleeve to steer him toward their salvation, and the boy complied easily. A moment later, the posse ran past their hiding place, and the boys felt safe enough to shut the door for a moment of rest.

Neville panted by his side, and Harry laughed softly once his rapidly beating heart left its place somewhere in his throat.

"We should probably stay in here until things settle down a bit," he suggested.

The sound of Filch's shouts and the armour's attack still echoed through the halls. The Slytherin slumped to the ground, allowing the cloak to pool underneath him. His friend, once the stitch in his side subsided, sat with his legs criss-crossed by Harry's head.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're becoming an adventurer in your own right."

"I must be as mad as you, then," Neville groaned. "I'm knackered. Where are we, even?"

The room they had entered kept to Wizarding standards of dimensions: four times as large and eight times as long as it should have been, based on the spacing of the doors adjacent to the one they entered. The ceiling, too, climbed higher than that of the corridor outside, straight through where the second floor should have started. The rib vaults, lit up with reflected moon and starlight streaming through the floor-to ceiling pointed gothic windows, soared overhead. Student desks and chairs lay piled against one wall, covered in dust and cobwebs. Harry thought he saw a few bats clinging to the chandeliers, too. None of these things would have been interesting on their own in a magical castle, but contrasted against the behemoth standing at the room's centre, each detail took on an aura of mystery.

A mirror, wider than Harry was tall and large enough to barely miss the vaulted ceiling, rose from massive curled, gold feet behind them. Its gilt frame shined subtly in the moonbeams, while its obsidian surface seemed not to catch or reflect even a hint of light. Neville walked toward it slowly. Harry's next inhalation brought with it the taste of dust, as he expected, but also that of ashes and lemons.

"Have you noticed?" Neville whispered. "It feels…"

Harry's eyes flickered over the scrolling inscription engraved over the looking glass.

_Erised__ Stra Ehru oyt Ube Cafru oyt on Wohsi_

"Neville, I don't think-"

The Gryffindor stopped in front of the dark glass. His eyes widened, and his hands pressed against its cold surface.

"Do you see them?"

Fear twisted the tone of Harry's voice as he cautiously approached behind his friend.

"I can't see anything except us," he said gently.

True enough, he could only perceive himself and Neville. Both looked tired in their dishevelled pyjamas and mussed hair, but the sandy blonde's shadowed, half-closed eyes were glazed.

"It's you, and me, but both our parents are there," he insisted. "My mum and dad, and the Potters, Gran, and the Doctor and Rose. They're all here. They're all so proud of us. And… My mum's holding a baby. I have a sister!"

His brow pressed against the glass, and his shoulders and face crumpled with unmistakable longing. Harry stepped forward slowly to grip his friend's shoulder.

"Neville," he said firmly. "Neville, there's no one else here. It's just you and me. You need to come away, now."

Harry squeezed a little harder and gave the Gryffindor a shake. Neville snarled and shoved Harry away without looking at him.

"Neville!" Harry hissed more urgently.

A sense of growing alarm came over him, and he grabbed hold of his mate's woollen dressing gown to tug him hard away from the mirror. The boy stumbled and fell on his rear, but whatever spell had overtaken him seemed to lift.

"What..?" Neville muttered, confusion furrowing his brow. "N-no… They were just there! Mum and Dad- They were okay, and we-"

The boy's face twisted with agony, and tears streamed over his suddenly splotchy cheeks.

Harry braced his the boy's shoulder.

"But I… I saw them all," the rambled. "They were okay! Your mum and dad, too- I mean, the Potter ones. The Doctor and Rose and your sister Jenny were all there, and I had a sister, too, and we were so happy…"

Neville dissolved into erratic sobs, while Harry did his best not to panic. He didn't do well with tears. He just sat silently while Neville had what Harry could only compare to his own stress-induced breakdowns over the years. The dust floating through the shafts of moonlight froze, and the tables and chairs stacked against the wall creaked and shifted uneasily. After what felt like a very long time, the boy's sniffles abated. Neville wiped his face with his sleeve, and Harry performed a drying charm with a wrinkle of his nose.

"I've never told you about my parents, have I?" he muttered regretfully. "Why Gran raised me instead of them."

"No," Harry said gently. "But my dad found out about it when he learned your mum was my godmother. You know, when he was looking through my records."

"That's the thing, though-"

Neville put his face in his hands and lay back on the cold, stone floor.

"We should have been like brothers, but someone took that away from us. Barely two weeks after _he_ murdered your mum and dad, some of his followers came to my house. My Gran told me they thought my parents would know something about how the Potters managed to make You-Know-Who disappear. She said my parents gave me to the house elves when the wards broke, and they kept me safe, but sometimes…"

He took a shuddering breath.

"Sometimes, I hear it all in my worst nightmares: my dad and mother screaming and Dad begging them to stop. Then her, too, until they didn't make any sounds, anymore. But worst of all, I remember this horrible _laughing_. Some woman's high-pitched, screeching laugh."

Harry pulled his knees to his chest against the image the words conjured. The acidic, bitter flavour of his friend's emotionally charged magic still tingled against his skin as Neville expelled a long sigh.

"My mum… Gran said she was pregnant," he said woodenly. "She wasn't far along enough that anything could have been done. Gran buried the baby in our family plot, and Mum and Dad haven't left Saint Mungo's since."

The boy's voice faded to a whisper so scant, Harry had to strain to hear it. A part of him wished he couldn't hear at all. Compared to Neville's parents, the Potters had been lucky.

"They can't talk to me. Dad can't even get out of bed. But Mum, I think she recognizes me. She gives me things, every time we visit. I _know_ all that, but it looked so real…"

Harry unwound his arms from his knees to pat Neville's knee.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I remember, too. I used to dream about it all the time. Dad said I'd break all the lights in the house, sometimes. So much green light- In my dreams, I always think how _red _my birth-mum's hair was against that horrible green flash. She begged, too, for him to spare me."

He turned to stare again at the inscription above the glass.

"Erised Stra Ehru oyt Ube Cafru oyt on Wohsi. It's a coded message. Just backward and spaced randomly without punctuation: 'I show not your face but your heart's desire'," he translated. "It can't bring anything to either of us. Even time travel isn't that powerful, and if we tried, _breaking_ time like that is liable to get us killed."

Neville whimpered.

"Your mum and dad love you," Harry murmured. "Everything I've read and half-remember tells me they loved me, too. We can't change what happened, but they gave everything to make sure we'd grow up happy and healthy. We just have to do our best to do that for ourselves and for them. Perhaps that has to be enough."

He examined Neville's face carefully, willing him to understand.

"I don't know if that helps at all-"

"Yeah," Neville finally said with a watery smile. "It does. Thanks, Harry."

* * *

**9 February 2013**

Harry's first Quidditch match of the spring season followed a long, tense, melancholy week their other friends did not quite understand. The others, even Draco, tried their best to distract them, but it was a difficult prospect. They asked after exploring with the cloak, but Harry quietly rebuffed the suggestion. After their midnight foray through the castle and subsequent encounter with the mirror, he thought it wisest to avoid the strange temptation that seized him whenever he thought of the mirror.

It made no sense at all.

The night had spawned nightmares for every evening since. He half-remembered a face. It was blurred, but he knew it to be Lily Potter's, and he knew it was streaked with tears. He remembered her warm hands shaking as she pressed him against her back, through the bars of his crib, to keep him out of view. He remembered the smell of vanilla and cinnamon as her long, flaming hair tickled his face. Then the door slammed open, and he heard her desperate, screaming pleas to a man he couldn't see. A flash of green would herald the end of the dream as it flooded his vision and washed away everything else, so that he jerked upright in his bed to sweat-soaked sheets.

He felt sure Neville must have had similar dreams, because after the mirror, the usually calm, happy boy withdrew into himself more than Harry had ever seen him. Even the varied and entertaining reactions at breakfast the morning following their excursion did nothing to help.

Without words or gestures make things easier, Harry did his best to at least give his friend the space to process. He deftly shielded him from Hermione's incessant, but well-meaning prodding and Daphne and Draco's teasing.

The match provided a welcome escape from everything. In addition to classes, his research with the Doctor, studying ahead, and his fitness regiment, Harry added daily Quidditch practices to his schedule the week prior to the game. As with every Slytherin game following Quirrel's first attempt on Harry's life, Professor Snape would again take the role as referee during the match. Further, in his efforts to ensure the first-year's safety, the man called Harry to his office on Monday night test his mental defences for several minutes. After a thoroughly exhausting lesson in occlumency, the professor then informed Harry he would receive nightly special defensive training until further notice. When the boy told the Doctor and Rose, they declared their immediate approval and admiration for his taciturn head of house.

Harry thought the fact might amuse the man, if he ever told him.

As it was, Professor Snape made a brutal master. Though he had not found entry into Harry's thoughts or memories during his examination, the professor assigned him several texts to improve the walls and traps protecting him.

"Make your mind a realm of agony for any attempting to traverse it," Snape commanded. "For all the kindness Lily Evans showed those around her, the woman's mind was a dangerous, twisted place for any who dared trespass."

After establishing the syllabus for Harry's self-study, he promptly began instruction in an area Harry had never explored with the assistance of a mentor. Although the weeks since his and his friends' return from London had included as much practical as theoretical study in defensive magic, a huge difference lay between drilling form and function and applying that knowledge to a real-life scenario.

Professor Snape started out with avoidance manoeuvres. Harry made the mistake of saying the prospect sounded fun. The professor's lips curled in such a way as to elicit a shiver from his student, and his instruction very quickly proved how wrong his expectation truly was.

"You can feel the magic around you," the professor drawled. "You must cultivate this skill beyond your admittedly advanced proficiency to the point of using your senses on instinct. With time and practice, you will even feel a spell's advance in total darkness."

Avoidance manoeuvres _hurt._ The lessons began with simple dodging practice in which the professor banished peanuts at his student from different directions. Harry's football and Quidditch-honed reflexes made it slightly easier than it might have been, but then he attempted to make a joke about Luke Skywalker.

He should have known better.

Flying peanuts led to a barrage of silently cast stinging hexes. After the professor tired of Harry's still respectable performance, he blindfolded him for the remainder of the practice. Even with his over-developed sensitivity for magic, by the end of the practice he felt like he'd walked straight into a beehive. Three lessons in, he managed to avoid the hexes, but failed to miss the physical projectiles Professor Snape would conjure now and then. His favourite were acorns, which left him peppered with angry red welts wherever they hit that would persist for up to an hour after the lesson.

"Your greatest advantages against an older attacker are your agility and your ability to dodge. Your magical core isn't strong enough for more than that. You _must_ improve."

With these nightly sessions, homework, after-dinner practices, doing projects for his dad, and helping his friends with their research and planning to help capture a Dark Lord and set up their Headmaster, Harry felt exceedingly relieved when the morning of the match dawned frozen and bright over Hogwarts.

Hermione, Daphne and Draco walked him down to the pitch early. They left him with a few words of playful ribbing or encouragement, dependent on his or her team loyalties. The good-luck wishes outweighed the teasing, since Neville's absence left Hermione more outnumbered than usual. The Gryffindor had elected to spend the match talking to Rose and Madam Longbottom in the tree house, much to his friends' mutual relief.

Harry arrived long before any of his teammates, so he picked he most secluded corner of the changing rooms to pull on his uniform and protective gear. Halfway through, the door squeaked open and the sounds of his teammates began to echo through the tiled space. The noise of a thousand feet overhead announced the spectators' arrival. Still, Harry only left his quiet nook when he heard the warning cannon blast.

"You all right, Potter?" Adrian Pucey murmured beneath the noise of Hooper and Pike shoving one another into the lockers.

They apparently thought it fun, since they were friends and weren't throwing punches.

Harry shrugged and adjusted the fit of his arm guard. It felt odd over top of the straps for his wand holster.

"Yeah. Just nerves."

"Not what I meant," the older boy said. "You've been off since term started."

"Lot on my mind," Harry dismissed.

Lee Jordan's call for the Slytherin team saved him from further scrutiny. He mounted his broom and shot out of the staging area before his name even left the enthusiastic commentator's lips. Five minutes and several obviously discriminatory calls later, Harry put an end to the match before Hufflepuff could endure further humiliation at the hands of Severus Snape and the loose morals of most of his teammates. He though it an act of mercy, despite his personal desire to extend the match purely for the joy he derived from flying.

With Quirrel in the stands, however, it was too much of a risk, even with Snape on the pitch.

"Potter?"

Harry ducked out from beneath the showerhead.

"What are you doing in here, Draco?" he frowned as he hastily wrapped a towel about his waist.

The blonde casually lounged on the tiled bench across from the line of shower cubicles with a jar of bluebell flames in a jar beside him.

"Hermione give you that?" Harry asked, drying hastily and pulling on his robes.

"Yes. I do have to commend you for your choice in associates, however much I disapprove of the lack of propriety rampant in many of the Wizless-raised. She's a dab hand at nearly everything," Draco drawled. "Anyway, I'm here on Professor Snape's request."

Harry finished dressing, attached the last fastening of his cloak, and shouldered his broom.

"He can't expect me to do extra lessons on _Saturday_," he almost pleaded.

Draco gave him one of his signature 'you're-stupider-than-dirt' looks.

"No. He suggested you might like to try seeking against someone competent, seeing as the match was so dreadfully dull and the stands are clear, now."

Harry grinned.

"With you?"

"Who else?"

Draco punched him in the shoulder and led the way out of the changing rooms, only stopping to pull one of the Slytherin practice brooms from the cupboard.

* * *

**23 February 2013**

On a rainy Sunday afternoon, in Magical Britain's historic marketplace, a handsome, exceedingly well-dressed couple strolled beneath the eaves of the tilting, precariously built row houses, shops, and offices toward the much-loved Bumblebee Bistro. The woman, a curvaceous redhead with confident bearing, large forest-green eyes, and a perpetually laughing mouth, walked on the arm of an equally attractive gentleman of a singularly tall, thin and graceful figure.

Unlike the riotous, multicoloured constructions to its left and right beneath the shadow of Gringotts Bank, Madam Bethany Bernadette Begbie's establishment remained unaltered from its exterior of aged red brick. Lustrous black paint graced the window and doorframes, whose dark patina contrasted beautifully against daffodil awnings. As soon as the couple approached the entrance, the restaurant's cheery, yellow door opened to admit them to a cosy, tastefully appointed reception, wherein black suit-and-bowtie uniformed maître d' smiled and stepped quickly forward.

"Good afternoon, Sir, Madam."

He took his wand from his pocket with as he approached the couple.

"May I take your cloaks?"

"Yes, thank you," the gentleman cheerily agreed.

The wizard waited for both guests to unclip or untie the garments before a flick of his wand swept them neatly away to an unseen closet.

"A secluded table for two?"

"For three, actually," the Doctor said with a winning smile. "I made a reservation by owl the other day for the Smiths plus one."

"Oh, of course, Mr Smith! Professor Dumbledore hasn't arrived yet," he gushed. "Would you prefer a private parlour for your luncheon today?"

Rose smiled politely and shook her head.

"No, thank you. One of your alcoves or booths would be perfect."

"My pleasure, Mrs Smith," the host bowed. "Please, follow me."

The maître d' led the elegant pair through an arch hung with heavy, dusky rose velvet drapes which opened into the first of several intimate, whimsical dining rooms. Dark wood floors shone underfoot from a recent polish, and plush rugs interrupted its expanse beneath each table. These varied in shape, material and height, and their linens, centrepieces, and chairs seemed themed after their table's design. Some looked eastern Asian or Middle-Eastern in origin, while others Indian, French, African, Mediterranean, or South American. Overhead, clear crystal and coloured glass lanterns glowed with ever-burning candles. Lush vines climbed from gaps in the floorboards to frame lovely little alcoves set into the walls. Despite the mishmash of colours, styles and textures, however, the eclectic combination created an atmosphere of warmth and fantasy Rose immediately adored.

"I love Wizardspace," she whispered in the Doctor's ear as he pulled out her chair.

He gave her a secretive wink when he took his seat, and their host summoned the day's menu with a wave of his wand. A swirl of white vapour momentarily obscured their place settings before coalescing into heavy cardstock, and their glass goblets automatically filled with cool water.

"Surprise us," the Doctor said before the maître d' could speak, and without looking at the menu. "We're both adventurous sorts. And please show Professor Dumbledore in as soon as he arrives."

The man bowed at the waist and smilingly accepted the dismissal. The couple watched him retreat back to the reception, and the woman released a soft sigh.

"You're still rude," Rose reprimanded playfully. "You didn't have to be so brusque."

"Eh. I can live with being rude, so long as I'm still sexy," he grinned roguishly.

His wife rolled her eyes in return for his efforts.

"Also, I still can't believe we didn't think to invite him ourselves," Rose complained as she spread her serviette over her lap. "Since when are we so slow?"

"Probably we subconsciously dismissed the idea as too boring," the Doctor shrugged. "That, or we're getting old."

Rose promptly kicked his shin under the table with the stiff toe of her shiny, leather boot.

"Don't even joke," she pouted. "Also, we have a five-year-old. How old could we be with that little monster running around?"

Her Doctor shrugged, and Rose leaned back contentedly.

They did not need words for every conversation anymore. After years travelling together – more than anyone might have guessed with their time inside the Vortex – the subtle twitches of their fingers or the quirk of a brow or lip did much to communicate their feelings and needs.

A platter of chilled, raw oysters topped with colourful foam popped into existence where their centrepiece used to be, and after a few bites of the oddly sweet hors' d'oeuvre Rose gave her husband a secretive smile.

"Do you ever regret it?" she hummed. "Leaving the TARDIS, I mean?"

The man smoothed a hand through his thick, windswept hair and grinned.

"Never. Of course I miss it, but I'd never trade you and the kids to go back. I only wish Jemmy and Jen could have experienced it. If the things could be built instead of grown, I would have made us one, by now. But, who knows? We've got the potential at our fingertips, now. That's all magic is, as far as our tests are showing: the ability to reach into the Time Vortex and using that energy to manipulate things. Advanced wish fulfilment."

The velvet drapes across from their alcove parted, and the Doctor cut off. A very old man with twinkling blue eyes, half moon glasses, extremely crooked nose, shimmering robes of midnight, and a hat strewn with moving, twinkling shooting stars swept toward their table with the maitre d' trailing helplessly behind him.

"Oh, sorry, dear boy," the sorcerer smiled when he realised he had acquired a flustered follower.

He obligingly unclipped his woollen cloak, and the host again bustled away with the garment floating obediently behind him. As soon as the young man left, the Doctor and Rose stood to greet the headmaster who caused them so much consternation. He twinkled at them when the Doctor shook his hand, and Rose allowed a whiskered kiss to her gloved knuckles.

"I am delighted to meet you both, Mrs and Mr Smith. I admit I was most surprised to receive your invitation," Dumbledore said as he took his seat in the plush, velvet-upholstered chair across from theirs. "Of course, I am always delighted to speak with any student's guardians, but it's always that much more enjoyable over casual conversation and a good meal."

Once everyone settled, a bottle of sweet mead floated to their table and helpfully poured its amber contents in their squat, filigreed cups.

"Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to join us," Rose said sweetly.

The headmaster smiled brighter, and the Doctor barely withheld a snort.

Dumbledore took his time perusing the menu for several moments, spoke his selection to his plate, and food appeared within moments, along with the Doctor and Rose's surprise dishes.

"So," the headmaster said several bites into their meal. "What may I do to help you fine young folk?"

Rose blotted her mouth with her napkin and her pleasant, mild smile fell a little in concern. The Doctor silently applauded her acting. It had improved quite a lot since their earlier adventures together.

"I wish to say it was just to call you away from parchmentwork, but actually-"

She looked to her husband, and he, gentleman that he was, gladly took over the potentially delicate part of the conversation.

"What Mrs Smith means to say is we've become a bit concerned about a few things at the school," the Doctor explained diplomatically. "Our son's told us some really disturbing things, and we thought we should come to you for reassurance."

The headmaster smiled sincerely.

"Of course!" he agreed. "I'm happy to assuage any worries you might have, especially if one of my charges feels unsafe in his home away from home. After all, my primary concern is that of my students' wellbeing and happiness."

Dumbledore took a sip of his mead and made a sweeping gesture of invitation.

"Whatever is troubling you?"

"Trolls," Rose murmured with affected fear. "Over the holidays, our boy told us a twelve-foot-high mountain troll breached Hogwarts' wards and _attacked_ a girl in his year."

Recognition shot across the educator's face, and the Doctor adopted a mien of concern equal to his wife's.

"A regrettable affair," Dumbledore agreed. "Thankfully, we apprehended the troll before it could cause anyone harm. We determined it came through the wards by way of an old sewage tunnel from before we updated the castle's plumbing: a glaring oversight by one of my predecessors. Naturally, we've since conducted an extensive search to ensure nothing else managed to get in with the aforementioned troll and expanded the ward net to cover the gap."

He smiled apologetically.

"I'm sure you were very concerned, especially after such a vague report," the headmaster continued. "Even so, the student involved came to no lasting harm, and the incident itself marked the first case of non-sports related injury in decades. I assure you, there's no probability of such a thing occurring again, and I can, with confidence, say that your son has nothing to fear."

"Oh, that's such a relief," Rose beamed. "We were _so_ worried. First the troll, and you've got that precious artifact under guard at the school this year- After the break-in at Gringotts, we thought whoever went after it might be trying to infiltrate the school with the beast as a distraction!"

The Doctor barely withheld a laugh. During Rose's gushing declaration, the old man's reassuring smile slipped into startled surprise. He sipped his mead to overcome the inclination and sat back to watch the show.

"I-" Dumbledore frowned. "Madam, however did you arrive at such a conclusion?"

"Oh, it was rather obvious, don't you think, Headmaster?" Rose simpered.

Her mask slipped and her words took on a steely, condescending tinge.

"What with Mr Hagrid going on about it in the Leaky Cauldron the day before the break-in, the story about the deed itself in the paper, and then your announcement of 'painful death' behind the door to the third-floor corridor-" she sneered. "Surely you can see how we'd think that our boy might be at risk."

The headmaster's twinkle seemed to have fled his electric blue eyes.

"Actually-" the Doctor interjected thoughtfully.

His brows drew together as if he'd entered a state deep thought while he continued.

"-One might wonder why Mr Hagrid was given such an important task, in the first place. It's fairly well known he's a bit of a chatty sort, even by us, and we've only been in Magical Britain for a short while."

"Yes," the copper-haired woman hummed lightly. "One might think his employer would _know_ of that little fault. I imagine the thief's already tried to get at the thing, after the groundskeeper's careless advertisement of its location. Still, I'm sure your protections are enough. Unless- Of course, the thief _could_ hire someone within the school to steal it for him. Oh, but I'm sure you'd take more care than that with your hiring practices."

She took a drink after voicing her musings and delicately brought another morsel to her mouth. The headmaster stared at her grimly. She pretended not to notice.

"I think you broke him," the Doctor thrummed. "Then again, you are astoundingly gorgeous and blindingly clever."

"Oh, hush," Rose smirked. "You know _you're_ the clever one."

"I think- " Dumbledore said gravely with a cautious look between the two. "It is time to drop your pretences and discuss what you came here to discuss. First, who are you, really?"

"Just concerned parents," the dark-haired gentleman reasserted.

The white-haired wizard sat back in his chair and steepled his hands over his crossed knees while he watched them over the rim of his half-moon glasses.

"Singularly _well-informed_ concerned parents, but to whom, I wonder?"

"Take a guess," the woman hissed. "And while you're at it, take another at what the other parents would say if they knew a _thief_ was walking around Hogwarts with their children, and the great Albus Dumbledore allowed it, even after _two_ known attacks on not only the Boy-Who-Lived, but also the daughter of a Noble and Most Ancient House, respectively?"

"Nothing good," the Doctor hummed in his place. "Even if the protective measures ensure a most painful death to an intruder, the fact is that said protections are _inside_ the school, which only endangers their kids since it seems the thief or his accomplice is in there with them."

The two allowed silence to fall while the headmaster apparently assessed them, in which Rose continued her meal and the Doctor casually sipped his beverage. The quiet ended abruptly with the loud slam of a fist impacting hard against the table. Rose looked up, and the headmaster scowled at the father's suddenly stormy face.

"You will stay _out_ of Rose's head," he snarled.

A small hand slipped over his knuckles, and he answered her silent question.

"Take a look around," Rose suggested.

"I don't think-"

"Look. Around."

Her eyes flashed warningly, and with a deep sigh of frustration, the old man obliged. His eyes darted around the room, and he stood from his table in alarm.

No one moved around them.

Dust motes had frozen in the shafts of weak sunlight filtering through the nearby windows. Waitstaff paused midstep, and water hung still in midair, the flow from glass carafes suspended over waiting goblets. Dumbledore stared around, muttered several spells of detection, and, when his wand remained silent, he slowly, warily, retook his overturned chair.

"You can't use magic against us," Rose stated matter-of-factly while she soothingly squeezed her husband's hand. "And you really _shouldn't_ be using any non-consensual mind-magicks at all. As you can see, the Doctor doesn't appreciate it."

"Indeed," the old man sighed.

The traces of hostility and confusion fell from his weathered features to leave only weariness in their absence.

"I apologise," Dumbledore murmured as he slumped in his seat. "I merely worried as to your intentions, but I see now that you have me at a unique disadvantage, and my inherent cautiousness has won me only your distrust. You must forgive an old man – an old soldier – his paranoia. Forgive me."

"Forgiveness takes time," Rose answered shrewdly. "But we're willing to give you the opportunity to earn it given a few conditions."

The old politician nodded his acceptance and attempted to return to his own forgotten food.

"We would like to teach at Hogwarts," the woman continued after another bite. "We're most interested in the education of Magical Britain's children, and obviously, we want to be closer to Harry."

The headmaster shook his head and tried a sympathetic smile.

"Alas! I admire your passion, but as there aren't currently any open positions, I can only promise to consider your interest in the event one becomes available."

Rose's steely, tight-lipped smile remained in place, and she took a sip of her honey wine before replying.

"It wasn't a request," she hummed. "These are not negotiations in the traditional sense."

The professor sighed again and pushed away his plate. It seemed the conversation would not allow his gut or mind the space they needed to enjoy his food. His dining companions suffered no such affliction.

"We _will_ be teaching at Hogwarts in the year to come."

"My dear woman," Dumbledore began, frowning at the decidedly disagreeable couple. "I do not think you understand the structure of my school. I can't simply _invent_ a position for you if there isn't one."

Across the table, the Doctor rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation.

"Shut up," he commanded.

The old man's mouth opened in indignation, and the slender gentleman pinned him with an icy stare.

"No, really, shut up."

The headmaster closed his mouth.

"You can't have it both ways," the Doctor scolded. "You can't claim all these insane titles and positions and also tell me you have no power to make a change when you want to. I mean, you _kidnapped_ a national icon without so much as a by-your-leave, not to mention the lives you ruined to do it, and no one ever questioned you, so don't give me that bit about not 'abusing your position' to make things happen."

"You're going to give my husband and me each positions among the Hogwarts staff," Rose concluded. "You'll present us a contract by the end of tem, and if you fail to deliver, Amelia Bones and Unspeakable Croaker will be in your office to discuss how an extremely sought-after piece of private property came to be stored in a school full of children _after_ a known theft attempt in supposedly the unbreakable bank _and_ an open attack on two eleven-year-old children."

Albus Dumbledore sighed again and nodded his acceptance. Until they released him from the strange prison they concocted, he had no choice in the matter. He could feel the magic within him, but it was as if he sat in a void with no way to channel it.

"Ah, and if _they_ don't handle you," Rose added, "The President of the United Kingdom will happily appeal to Her Majesty to end the Wizarding world as you know it for the corrupted, hateful disaster it is."

The Doctor snorted.

"You do realize we've had cameras recording Wizarding activity since the early nineties?" he interjected. "Completely thick, you lot are. Utterly stupid. And trust me, the military is not amused at the obliviation used against Her Majesty's citizens."

"Oh, but you couldn't do that," the headmaster spluttered. "What would happen to _magic_? Harry has an adoptive sister, does he not? How would she see Hogwarts?"

"Easily," the Doctor assured him. "There have been plans in place to absorb and integrate the Wizarding and non-Wizarding worlds under the crown and congress for ages, now. Hogwarts would become part of the country's education system, your fancy titles and seats of power would be so many footprints on the shore, and you'd be thrown into a time rift, anyhow, so I doubt you'd care."

"Because that's how much you've brassed us off," Rose added. "Basically, you will have never existed. It just won't occur to people that an Albus Percival Wulfric Brian So-and-so ever was born, at all."

There was a long pause. The professor refilled his mead glass with a strained set to his face.

"Well. I'm far too old not to know when I'm thoroughly beaten. I would tip my hat to you, Madam, Sir, if I were still wearing it."

Albus Dumbledore started twinkling again and raised his glass.

"In the meantime, allow me to drink to your health."

The Doctor and Rose continued staring stonily at the man they both unreservedly disliked and distrusted.

"Now, what positions were you considering among my staff?"

…

_Dear Harry,_

_We are officially contracted to begin performing as instructors for Non-Magical Cultures and History of Magic, respectively, from the first of August onward. We haven't told Jenny yet, but we have also secured apartments at the castle, so she will be joining us next year, too._

_He gave in a little too easily, though, so be on your guard. He probably thinks it'll be easier to figure out our game if we're close by. I think he recognized my name, too, but I wasn't close enough to tell for sure._

_Be good. We love you. I'm taking my OWLs and NEWTs in May. Professors Smith and Smith look forward to teaching you next year._

_Love,_

_Dad_

_P.S. I think we've fixed the badges, and our fancy schmancy dark wizard detectors are ready when you are._


	14. Houses of Wood, Castles of Glass

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

A/N: I think we have one, maybe two more chapters left, now. I will be posting the first chapter of the next year and the last chapter of this one at the same time, so make sure to check my profile to stay caught up! It's been a crazy month. I never thought I'd be so motivated to pump out a 50K+ word story in so short a time. Thank you so much for your kind support and readership!

Thanks for your comments, faves, and follows thus far. I love you all.

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Houses of Wood, Castles of Glass

* * *

**14 March 2013**

Their next jaunt through the trap door coincided with Daphne's birthday. She hadn't told anyone prior to the occasion, so when it came up, Daphne took advantage of her friends' mutual guilt and appointed herself Queen for a Day. She, therefore, accompanied Harry and Neville (who would not let Harry go without him) when they approached Fluffy's door in the very early hours of the morning. Hermione and Draco remained in the corridor to watch the way beneath the invisibility cloak.

Fluffy, thanks again to the music box, fell quickly to sleep, and the Devil's Snare shied away from their lit wands and hastily fled the flames they conjured as soon as they landed. As before, Harry's Nimbus helped them make quick work of the flying key room. Daphne, to Harry's delight, flew extremely well on one of the school brooms to help him corral the correct key into a corner while Neville placed the detection ward below. They moved quickly on to the chessboard.

The children, using the map the Doctor had uploaded to Harry's sonic, first placed half a dozen alarm and identification charms around the chessboard's entrance-facing edge. After the scanner beeped its read on the inconspicuous, adhesive glass discs, Daphne reassumed her command and surveyed the board and her subjects.

"So," she said from the queen's shoulder, facing the white king. "Do we have to do this again, or will you concede defeat?"

The white king obstinately remained where he was, and his queen made a rude gesture.

"I swear, these pieces are as Scottish as McGonagall," Harry complained. "They were stubborn last time, too, even after it was obvious we'd won."

Fifteen minutes later Daphne led the boys on into the troll's chamber, where Bob sat miserably in the corner. The girl, who had not yet seen this particular mountain troll but still held a healthy amount of fear for them as a species, silently crept to the other door to wait while Harry made his greetings.

Bob grunted upon seeing the children and banged his club in a forlorn sort of way.

"Yeah, I know, big guy. Must be dreadfully dull sitting here all day."

The troll lumbered forward and bent so Harry could scratch his head. Neville reeled away, pinching his nose.

"Keep an eye out, okay? And if a guy in a turban comes by, you just stay out of the way. Wouldn't want you getting hurt. Now be good and sit still a while. We've got to do a little work around your room."

Bob grunted again and lay down to stare at the ceiling.

"Poor chap," Harry muttered as they finished placing their alarms. "It's cruel and unusual, locking him up like this."

Daphne shook her head emphatically and closed the door behind them with their exit. They walked a short while down the narrow corridor leading away from the troll's chamber with their lit wands held before them. Again, they passed from stone floors and smooth walls to roughly hewn surfaces both above and below that hollowly echoed their footsteps. Without a warning from the sonic scanner, or even Harry's sensitivity toward ambient magic, they suddenly found their way forward blocked by ominous black flames. Behind them, a wall of violet roared to life and drowned the light of their wands in its intense glow.

Lanterns sprang to life to the left to reveal a long, thin glass surface that hovered at wait-height above the floor. A line of bottles – fat, thin, spiralled, squat, tall, triangular, square, pill-shaped, and twisty – stood in a line upon the glass. A square of stiff parchment sat at the centre of the floating tabletop, like a menu card at a buffet. Daphne picked up the card and frowned.

"That's different," she muttered. "It's a puzzle."

Harry took the card and read the unfamiliar, jagged black script.

_Danger lies before you while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, which ever you would find._

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

"Well, that's ridiculously easy," Harry sighed. "Dumbledore didn't even try."

"There's poison on that table!" Neville cried.

The darker-haired boy gave his friend a reassuring look.

"Yes, but this clearly says where the poisons are."

Daphne looked at the note another time and frowned at Harry doubtfully.

"Hermione's right," Harry sighed under his breath. "Wizards need more education in the area of logic."

He took the smallest bottle (closer to a phial, really), stuck a pea-sized disc to its bottom, pulled the tiny crystal stopper from its mouth, and swallowed its contents in one gulp. His insides immediately felt doused in ice. He shivered.

"Harry?" Neville squeaked in high-pitched alarm.

"It's just cold."

He passed the phial to the Gryffindor.

"Put it back on the table and drink the little round one on the far right to go back and reset the trap. Come back in and make sure everything's the same before taking the little one. Sonic says there are refilling charms on everything."

With that, Harry stepped through the black flames. It felt pleasantly like a light, cool breeze against his skin.

"Oh, fantastic," he grumbled after emerging on the other side.

"You alright?" Neville shouted through the wall of roaring black.

"Yes! On second thought, just go on back for now. It eats away your clothes!"

Harry flushed as Daphne dissolved into laughter.

"You mean you're–" Neville stuttered.

"Yes, I'm naked!" Harry snapped. "Daph, can you go call Cuddie for a set of clothes? I don't think she'd hear us down here."

"Why should I?" she giggled. "Following an order like that would go against my queenly prerogative."

The boy groaned and stepped as close as he dared to the fire.

"Because you're my friend, and swear I'll never leave this room if I have to do it in the nude. So, please, Your Majesty, have mercy and get me some bleeding shorts at the very least!"

Neville made a choking sound he thought might have been a laugh, and the Slytherin girl completely lost all sense of composure again to mirth.

Harry heard the faint echo of the door to Bob's room slamming shut, and with nothing better to do and a job still to accomplish, he turned to examine his new surroundings. This new chamber stretched twice as large as that of the flying keys. Narrow moats of oil, alight with flickering orange flames, lit the space and cast strange splashes of colour against the room's only occupant aside from Harry.

"You again," he grumbled as he stepped before the familiar mirror.

Something tickled at the back of Harry's throat. It hinted at a flavour that most definitely had not accompanied the device on their last meeting, but it was too faint to place. He could still sense that hint of menace, but something – a lot of somethings – overlay it. Scowling, he moved to stand properly before the obsidian surface. The mirror showed him a scene of a dark shade's demise, in which Harry, bloodied and filthy (but not naked, thank Rassilon), clutched a blood-red stone.

"Right," the boy grumbled. "I'm guessing since you taste different, Dumbledore's done something to you, and the stone's on your insides somehow. Did he put the prison thing in you, too?"

Harry swore he heard the magic of the mirror humming with barely concealed laughter.

"One of these days, my mum's going to get a proper go at that bearded old meddler."

….

The children reached their dormitories just after four in the morning, and at breakfast, only Hermione seemed her usual chipper self. She sat between Susan and Hannah to help them with last-minute homework while eating berry-topped porridge. Neville sat with them, nibbling half-heartedly on toast.

Harry, Draco and Daphne did their best to seem unaffected at their own table, but not all were fooled. Adrian Pucey, who had taken more interest in Harry than he would have liked, mulishly refused to let the subject drop despite the looks he received from his housemates for his several breeches in proper decorum.

"I know you're not doing well," he said under his breath as he leaned toward Harry across the table. "You're my teammate, and you're Harry Potter. What do you think people will say if you fall ill under _our _tender mercies?"

Harry did not dignify that question with an answer, rather choosing to take a third helping of crisp bacon from the salver, and thankfully the warning bells soon saved him from further interrogation by his well-meaning classmate.

Although glad for his escape, Harry's morning potions lesson strenuously tested his self-control. He dearly wanted to rest his head on the bed of Pegasus feathers before him (a vital ingredient in weightlessness potions commonly used to prepare Wizarding products for shipping) as he carefully separated the barbs from their shafts. He carefully shredded each barb with his silver knife and scooped them into the mortar he shared with Neville. The Gryffindor took the bared shafts, cut away the closed off ends, and shaved them into needle-thin, curling strips.

"Are you attempting to sabotage Finnigan, Weasley? Or are you really that stupid?"

The boys looked up, partly for any distraction to keep them awake, as the potions master swept to tower over the table closet to the front. The subject of his criticism, Ronald Weasley, quickly turned red and glared defiantly back at his instructor. The professor was in fine form today. Harry wondered how long Weasley would go before he opened his mouth and stuck his foot in it.

"You've failed to separate the barbs properly. If you added them to your potion, now, it would be Christmas again before it reached the proper consistency. Unless you were trying to make a useless syrup?"

Snape sneered and waved his wand over the boy's mortar. The badly shredded bits of feather disappeared.

"Begin again."

Ron shot out of his seat before Snape could reach his seat and slammed his fists on the table. All of Seamus Finnigan's lovingly prepared feather shafts launched into the air in a poof before scattering all over the tabletop, floor, and their robes.

"Why are you always picking on me?" Weasley shouted. "People say you're brilliant, even though you're a git, but you know what? I think you're just a jumped up thug! The only reason you got your mastery is because you've never had anything better to do! How could you when you go out of your way to make sure every person you've ever met hates you?"

The room fell silent aside from the quiet burbling of twenty cauldrons and the ringing grind of magically animated pestles working feathers into fine, white dust. No one dared even to breathe as the potions master slowly turned to stare coldly at the beet-red boy.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and detention, Mr Weasley. Report to Mr Filch by nine tonight or it shall be a month's worth."

No one talked after that. For the remainder of the lesson, the generally taciturn man hovered over them like a spectre waiting to strike at the smallest sign of weakness. Harry thought Neville might mangle his own potion, given how much he shook, but somehow, his hands remained steady enough to produce a perfectly acceptable weightlessness draught.

When the class ended, everyone felt relieved to clean his or her station and file toward the door. Harry, especially, wanted to find a warm, sunny alcove somewhere in the castle and take a long nap. He was ahead in his other lessons, anyway, and his professors knew it. He could definitely afford the absence.

"Potter."

Neville and Daphne threw him sympathetic looks as they left. Draco followed after them with a shrug and a smirk, as if to say 'Oh, well.'

Harry turned. Snape examined him with an inscrutable expression. The door shut quietly, and the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood on end as layers of magic leapt to cover the exit with protections he couldn't identify.

"Your extra lesson is cancelled for today. Given last night's activities, I'm sure you need the rest."

The boy blinked and tried a feeble grin. His dad had told him Snape was one of the professors involved with the enchantments past the trap door, but they had so far believed the ghosting tabs kept them hidden from the detections placed throughout the corridor.

"You have thirty seconds to explain why you chose to purposefully endanger yourself and your friends thusly before I assign you a month's detentions for our ignoble stupidity."

The grin faded. Harry sat down heavily in the nearest chair facing Snape's desk.

"My mum and dad worked it out," he explained tiredly. "We know Voldemort-"

"Do _not_ say that name!"

Harry paused and sighed.

"Sorry, 'You-Know-Who' is after the stone, and we know Dumbledore's lured him here. We know the dark tosser's got Quirrell's trying to steal it, too, but we can't rely on the headmaster to trap him or his boss. If he could have, I think he would have during the first war, so we've put our own detections down there to send us an alert when it's breached for real so we can call D-M-L-E."

The potions master's mask of cool indifference disappeared as if someone had drawn the shades away from his waxy cheeks and a hooked nose.

"I see you're cleverer than the headmaster gives you credit for. Indeed, cleverer than even I imagined."

"I can't take all the credit," Harry demurred. "My parents and friends helped a lot."

"I think I should meet your mother and father," the professor hummed wryly.

"Dumbledore did a few weeks back. They'll be teaching here next year, so I'm sure you'll get the opportunity over the summer hols."

"Hmm."

The professor slid a small black case across his desk.

"Pepper-up potions," he said at his student's raised brow. "To help with your stamina should you find yourself tired after another late-night excursion. Be wary. His agent will move again soon."

"Thank you, but we should be done with our part, now. Dad said the readings are looking good, and he and Mum'll be the ones alerting Madam Bones," he frowned. "I was wondering, though. How did you know…?"

"There are similar alarm wards set into the dormitories to alert me when there are students out of bed," Snape grunted. "I followed you."

Harry frowned and thought a moment on the Professor's contribution to the conversation.

"Professor," he said slowly. "Do you think they know? Dumbledore and _them_, I mean."

The surly man exhaled explosively and leaned forward across his desk. A curtain of dark, oily hair swung to frame his harsh face as he pushed forward the box in offering again. Harry resisted the urge to lean away at the intimidating glare that bloomed across the man's face.

"If your question refers to the ward net layered over the area, then no, neither Dumbledore nor the Dark Lord have been alerted to your presence inside the corridor," the professor whispered urgently. "Still, there is more to this than you think: more than I am able to tell you. However-"

The man's voice dropped another octave, and Harry bent closer to catch it.

"The headmaster's trap was not meant for the purpose you assume. It will _not_ contain He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

The boy pondered his words, and the professor let him. The quiet pause stretched into four minutes while Harry stared blankly into space. Slowly, agonizingly, the colour drained from the child's face and the tired confidence slid from his vibrant eyes. Harry bowed his head and clenched his hands into fists.

"Dumbledore's been leaving me clues and stuff," he reasoned slowly. "He lied to the world about how I grew up and let them print that trash about me. He sent me to live with people he knew would hate me before my godparents even knew to take me."

Severus Snape's dark stare pinned the child to his seat. The words felt both true and hollow as they left Harry's mouth.

"Voldemort would have known the next place an artefact like that might be hidden, so there wasn't any reason to advertise_. _He built the storybook mystery to lure _me_. He wants me to confront Voldemort. But why?"

Snape looked away from the emerald stare that pinned him: Lily's eyes, copied into the face of a man he hated.

"Potter," he spat.

Harry slumped in his seat with disappointment clear on his young face.

"Harry," the professor began again, more gently but no less strained. "You must not ask me this. I am sure with your appetite for books you know what bonds a wizard may undergo to cement his allegiance. I _cannot_ tell you why the Dark Lord targets you or why Dumbledore wishes you to face him"

"I understand," Harry murmured. "I just thought…"

"If I understand _you_," Snape nearly smirked at the irony in seeking to understand a Potter at all. "I imagine your greatest fear is for your family. They, too, must be aware of it if they persist in their efforts to gain power here."

The boy nodded.

"I cannot promise an outcome, and I cannot vouch for the headmaster's intentions. I only partly know them, myself. I can confirm the Dark Lord has not left the world as everyone so willingly believes; however, I find myself compelled to say hope, however fleeing, still exists. Your mother and your parents made very sure of that."

"Could you tell me about her?" Harry asked quietly. "We haven't got around to it, much."

Snape swallowed back a decade of bitterness and grimaced across the table at his young charge.

"She was the kindest, most intelligent, most compassionate person I ever had the pleasure of knowing," he murmured. "It is my greatest regret I did not prove so good a friend to her when she lived. Or else, perhaps, you would never have been called 'Potter,' and no one would believe the insanity the world seems to expect of you."

"I'm sorry I never got to know her," Harry softly answered. "But you know, my dad says the people we care about are never really lost to us. Time, as we perceive it, is just an illusion. We all exist infinitely, all at once and forever. Somewhere in the Vortex, you and she are still friends, she's happy, and she'll never die."

* * *

**27 March 2013**

For Easter holidays, the Doctor and Rose agreed Harry should remain at the castle to continue his intensive defence training with Snape, especially after the professor's horrifying insinuations. Between these exercises in pain tolerance and failure, Harry took the time to enjoy teas with Professor Flitwick (who Harry liked very much) and Hagrid (who he admired less but still enjoyed quite a lot). Although Draco and Daphne went home, Hermione and Neville both elected to remain in the castle, too. Hogwarts had a different feel to it without a full thousand students wandering its halls, but with the Weasleys, the Quidditch teams of the other three houses (who needed the extra practice in light of the impending semi-finals), several Ravenclaws (who took the opportunity to work ahead), and nearly all of fifth and seventh years (who were preparing to take either their Ordinary Wizarding Levels or Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests) remaining over the holiday, it could not feel empty by any means.

Aside from wanting to help Harry in his research and training, however, Hermione and Neville remained for a far more important task: ensuring Harry got to have some actual fun before the end of term. As often as they could, Hermione and Neville forced Harry to join them on walks across the grounds, further exploration of the castle itself, and joint expeditions to Hagrid's hut, where, if they were lucky, they sometimes had the opportunity to see him caring for one of the many animal denizens of the Hogwarts grounds.

Neville unfolded the most recent note they received from their large friend.

"Hagrid says he's found an orphaned unicorn foal. He's invited us down to see it and he asks if we can bring Professor Lumsden."

"Who's Professor Lumsden?" Hermione asked, turning to look at the head table.

Susan Bones, who had remained behind because her aunt had not been able to take time off for the holidays, fed Hedwig a few strips of bacon and nodded to a young professor with neatly combed hair and wild sideburns growing from hairline to jaw.

"Cináed Lumsden teaches muggle studies," Susan offered. "My auntie isn't very fond of him. He replaced Professor Quirrell when he changed to defence."

"Why doesn't your aunt like him?" Harry wondered.

Aside from his unruly muttonchops, the man's appearance featured a predominantly red and blue kilt and tartan, which he combined with dark blue robes and a black waistcoat. He chatted amiably to Professor Kettleburn, one of the few teachers aside from the heads of house to remain through the holiday. He looked perfectly amicable.

Susan cracked the shell of her soft-boiled egg a little violently.

"He's been known to say unkind things about the Wizless and First-Gens. How can someone like that accurately teach a subject about their culture?"

Harry grinned a little. His respect for Susan and Madam Bones jumped just a bit higher.

"Well, I have it on good authority he's not going to be staying in that capacity next year," he intimated. "So if he really is that bad, he can't do very much damage."

Neville passed Hermione the note.

"Do you want to go or not? It says to come down sometime before lunch. We could go after we finish breakfast."

"Sure," Harry agreed. "My sister will want a photo, anyway. She's gone a bit mad about magical creatures."

The kids (without the professor, who sent his apologies and news of another engagement) left the entrance hall just after the ten o'clock bells tolled across the grounds. The weather had improved over the last month from unbearably cold to almost comfortably brisk. Sunshine swept bright across the lawns and urged thousands of wildflowers to blossom beneath a clear blue sky. Fang, the groundskeeper's enormous boarhound, lay on the grass in a ray of warmth just beyond Hagrid's front step where he barked and wagged his tail upon spotting their approach.

"Hi, Fang," Neville said, scratching the slobbering animal behind its ear. "How's your dad?"

"Hagrid," Hermione called as she rapped on the door. "Hagrid, we're here!"

She knocked a little harder.

"Hagrid!"

The door swung open, and a wilder-than-usual-looking man poked his head out through the narrow gap.

"Yes? Yes, what is it? I'm a bi' busy today." Hagrid's eyes finally cast downward. "Oh. It's you lot."

"Who else were you expecting?" Hermione laughed. "You sent Neville a note about the unicorn just last night."

"What?"

The man glanced around at them all distractedly.

"Sorry. Must'a forgot to send the other 'un."

Harry frowned. Hagrid peered about twitchily and wiped an enormous fist over his sweating brow. Despite the much warmer weather, he wore a heavy leather smock and thick dragonhide gloves compared to the kids' light jumpers and robes.

"Hagrid, are you up to anything you shouldn't be?" Harry asked casually before he could close his door. "We could help, you know. Besides, secrets are no fun unless you've got someone to share them with."

The man's beetle-black eyes crinkled with his relieved smile.

"Oh, go on, then," he mumbled. "In you get."

The children filed through the narrow opening in the door and took their usual seats around Hagrid's scrubbed wooden table. The room felt unreasonably hot, and Harry immediately shed his outer robe and rolled up the sleeves of his jumper.

"What's going on?" Neville asked once Hagrid shut and bolted the door.

"I know yer lot can keep a secret, so…"

The man crouched before the hearth and gestured to the large, coal-black egg nestled in the roaring flames.

"Hagrid, is that-?" Hermione whispered.

"Where in the name of all that's holy did you get that?" Harry complained. "Surely you can't buy one just anywhere. My dad'd have one, otherwise. Or Torchwood. Or UNIT, Rassilon help us all."

The others looked at Harry strangely. Hagrid shuffled nervously as he stoked the flames higher with shifty glances at his guests.

"It is odd, don't you think?" Neville tried more gently. "Not that we're not happy for you. You did say you've always wanted to raise a dragon. It's just weird that you'd get a _dragon_ that way. They're the most regulated animals in the world."

The big man waved off their concerns with a grin and started to busy himself with making tea.

"Not ter worry. I got Fluffy inna game o' cards from a Greek chappie years ago an' no trouble came ou' of it."

"You won a Cerberus and a _dragon_ _egg_ playing poker?" Harry asked incredulously.

He sorely wanted to bang his head against the table.

"Black Jack, iffin you mus' know. An' why not?" the big man grumbled defensively. "It was all fair 'n trick ter any crea'ure is knowin' what calms 'im down. Jus' as I tol' tha' bloke in the pub. Take Fluffy fer example-"

A strange rattling, tapping sound came from the fire. Neville and Hermione exchanged nervous looks. Harry twisted in his oversized chair to let his head dangle over one arm and his feet over the other.

_So much for a nice visit with a baby unicorn,_ he thought wearily.

"It's not hatching, is it?" Hermione hissed.

Hagrid dropped his kettle with a hollow _clang! _and rushed to scoop the stone-black egg out of the flames. His dragonhide gloves hissed and smoked at the contact as he carried it to the centre of the table, where the wickerwork basket of fruit found itself ousted in favour of a lumpy, coiled knitted scarf. The gamekeeper gently set the egg in the woolly nest, where it rocked and shivered with growing intensity until, with a resounding _crack!_ a bit of the shell flew from the whole to crash into Hagrid's glasses on the shelf behind them. Their shattering cascade masked the noise of the rest of the eggshell falling away. Something dark coloured and leathery flopped out of the basket to lie, shivering, on the tabletop. Its wings unfurled, and the little creature stretched out its head to blink its double lids at them all.

"Ain' 'e beau'iful," Hagrid cooed. "'Ello Norbert."

The tears shimmering in the groundskeeper's eyes got lost in the bramble of his beard as they spilled over.

"Norbert?" Hermione gasped in obvious exasperation. "Hagrid, you can't keep it! It's going to grow twelve times its size in under two months."

"Norbert's no' an 'it,' 'Ermione," the man frowned. "Apologise to 'im!"

Harry groaned again, and the little dragon coughed out a small burst of flame that barely missed setting the scarf on fire. Neville scooted back into his seat to avoid possible singeing. Hermione and Hagrid quickly descended into a pointless argument (in which she sounded like a parent at her wit's end) over the logic in keeping a dragon in a wooden house. When Harry opened his eyes again, it was to the feeling of the very hot, scaly little reptile crawling directly up his arm. It blinked at him out of its tiny face with its bulging orange eyes and very deliberately rubbed its knobbly head against Harry's hand.

"Oh, are you trying to be cute?" the boy muttered. "You're going to get my friend into a lot of trouble, you know."

The dragon made a pitifully small sound of protest and did its level best to climb up Harry's sleeve. It wobbled and slid, its slim talons scratching the boy's forearm harmlessly, until Harry finally scooped the dragon up to curl sleepily against his chest with its little head nuzzled under his chin.

Conversation had died out during his short interlude with the reptile.

"What?"

Everyone stared at him. Even Hagrid appeared disturbed.

"What?" he demanded again. "I may not approve, but I can hardly dislike it. It _is_ a baby, after all."

"What?" Hermione gasped. "No- Harry, you're a _Parseltongue!_"

Harry blinked and shrugged.

"Oh. I didn't know that talent applied to dragons, too."

"Oh, glad you know, then," Neville squeaked in a strained, high-pitched way. "Good. Just warn a bloke, next time. Also, you shouldn't show that around. Most people fear it."

"Oh, to be able to communicate with 'im," Hagrid said wistfully. "It's a shame mos' people associate tha' with You-Know-Who."

Understandably, the rest of the Easter holiday became an extended attempt to convince Hagrid keeping a dragon was an exceptionally bad idea, a pastime punctuated by Harry's impromptu training sessions as the creature grew to three times its size by the end of the week. They all considered it an important effort, to be sure, since Hagrid's house was extremely flammable, and the man himself had not yet been persuaded to reason.

"No, that's rude," Harry reminded Norbert. "You can't just blow fire at things because it's fun."

_"Why not? I can't stop the Breath. It keeps me warm."_

"Fair point. What if I set up a nice little fire pit for you, and I'll try to find you somewhere more dragon-friendly to live. At least try not to singe everyone's robes and hair, okay? We're not fireproof like you are."

The dragon nodded. Harry set to work stoking Hagrid's fire, scooped a couple of embers and unlit coals into the cauldron hanging over it, and lay the little dragon inside.

* * *

**8 April 2013**

As classes started up again, Harry, Neville, Hermione, and Draco and Daphne (once informed), all felt their chances of convincing the groundskeeper to give up the quickly growing reptile extremely unlikely. They also agreed something had to be done before the man found himself out of a house and a job, or worse, arrested on charges for participating in illegal animal trading and child endangerment, considering he kept said very dangerous animal on school grounds. While Harry and his friends enjoyed the Hagrid's personality, they all agreed his common sense was about as warped as Dumbledore's when it came to any creature classed triple 'X' or higher.

Thankfully, with the alert wards in place and Harry's extracurricular studies progressing beautifully, the children found much more time available to consult with the Doctor and Rose over this new and unexpected problem. On Monday afternoon, the three Slytherins and their Gryffindor and Hufflepuff counterparts climbed the grand staircase after dinner to retreat to their secret tree house.

Unlike in prior meetings however, the screen came to life to frame a little girl with shiny red curls and a multitude of freckles.

"Jenny!" Harry gaped.

"Harry!" she squealed back. "Look-"

She pointed imperiously to the rear of the Sutton-bound tree house's wall, where a ridiculously expensive looking, pink crystal toilet seat hung in a gilded frame.

"Dad put it up here last night. Why didn't you tell me you've been vid-chatting all this time?"

Jenny put her little fists on her hips and glared at him.

"You had better send me some chocolate to apologise, or I'm going to put a frog in your bed."

Neville choked back a laugh, and Harry realized with a flush that his friends had crowded around him in varying states of amusement at his embarrassment and confusion.

"Oi, Jen-!" he complained.

"Hi Jenny Renette," Neville waved. "Have you and Dippy had a play date, yet?"

Harry shot the boy a grateful look for covering his momentary discomposure and waved his other friends forward to see his sister. Despite having attended the Longbottom New Year's Ball, Jenny had gone away with Dippy before she could meet Daphne and Hermione, and Draco hadn't been there at all.

"No, not yet," Jenny sighed dramatically. "I've been living at Grandmum's with Tony most of the time, and she gets nervous about magic, even though she's faced down Daleks before."

Hermione shuddered. The Wizard-raised kids looked perplexed.

A round of introductions followed, in which Jenny declared her approval of the girls and distrust toward Draco. When asked why, she responded with 'he looks shifty-ish and grumpy', from which the others derived a hearty round of snickers.

The blonde boy was not amused.

"So, Harry," Rose interjected as she joined Jenny on the screen. "I hear you won your semi-final yesterday."

"He was fantastic as always," Draco grinned. "The Gryffs hardly stood a chance. It's sad, really. Wood's a fair keeper, and the Weasley twins are probably better suited for Slytherin than our own beaters. Without a doubt, their chasers definitely make a better team than ours, too, but their seeker…"

The platinum blonde gave an elegant shrug, and Harry winced. He didn't like to say unkind things about his schoolmates, but Cormack McLaggen was the most obnoxious boy he had ever met. Even Neville, who rarely showed displeasure toward anyone, made a face.

"He tried to tell me how to hold my wand the other day when we were doing some spell practice. He tried to correct _Hermione_, and when she refused his help he gave us a lecture on how 'Puffs shouldn't be in the tower in the first place.' He thinks he's the best at everything, and he's only a second-year."

"Right," Rose laughed. "I getcha. So he spends most of the game watching other people rather than focusing on his own job?"

"Basically," Harry confirmed. "If it weren't for the twins, it would have been too easy."

"I don't know about those two," Hermione grumbled. "Even on the pitch they don't really go along with Wood's strategy. They just sort of make chaos. They're far too interested in causing trouble for my tastes."

The others stared at her, and when she met their gazes in confusion, they burst into laughter. Rose's smile stretched larger than life on the screen.

"What?" the Hufflepuff frowned. "I mean it."

"We're just surprised is all," Rose gently teased. "I mean, you've probably broken nearly all the school rules just in one year."

"Only about half of them," Hermione sniffed. "I've obeyed all the ones about respecting professors and not cheating and things like that."

"We're planning to get a contracted professor arrested while also assisting in the blackmail of our headmaster," Daphne pointed out. "Not to mention withholding information related to an ongoing investigation from the DMLE."

The bushy-haired girl stuck out her tongue.

"It's to stop You-Know-Who so it doesn't count. Also there are a ton of by-laws that I haven't even thought about violating."

"Never mind all that," Rose interrupted, effectively stopping a fight before one could start. "What are you going to do about Norbert?"

Neville grinned suddenly.

"Weasleys."

"Poor, freckled, penchant for mischief–" Draco drawled. "What about them?"

Hermione huffed at his choice of descriptors, and he grinned unapologetically back at her.

"Charlie Weasley, the twins' older brother, works on a Dragon reserve!"

"I think we should seek the pranksters out, then," Harry suggested as he checked his watch. "We've got ages till curfew, so no time's better than now."

…

However, the twins were nowhere to be found. The children searched the entire castle in groups using their communicators and Harry's cloak for the restricted areas, and even combed the grounds. Still, none of their efforts brought them closer to the elusive redheads. They regrouped in the great hall for lunch feeling very disappointed and not a little confused.

"Where else could they be?" Daphne demanded in time to a particularly vicious stab at a strawberry.

She disapproved of physical exercise almost as much as Harry enjoyed it and had voiced, multiple times, her case for discontinuing their manual search.

"Don't know. Hogwarts has too many hidden bits to go checking them all, but I've got a new idea, anyhow. Follow me."

Harry rose with the remainder of his sandwich half-wrapped in a serviette and led the way from the great hall to the reception room adjacent. The door closed, and without further explanation he gave a soft call.

"Cuddie!"

The little elf popped into existence and dropped into a low curtsey.

Draco and Daphne made twin groans of understanding mixed in equal part with self-deprecation.

"Harry Potter calls for Cuddie?" she said in her high-pitched squeak of a voice.

"Yes," Harry grinned. "I was wondering if you could help me find a couple of my friends. We're trying to help Hagrid with a bit of a problem and we need to talk to them. Do you think you could fetch them for me? You've always been so wonderful in the past."

Cuddie beamed and blushed a little.

"So long as your friends are not in a bathroom, Harry Potter, of course Cuddie is happy to help. Who are they?"

"Fred and George Weasley."

A rather wicked grin spread over the elf's face.

"Cuddie would be very glad to help Young Master fetch the naughty Wheezies."

_Pop!_

The elf disappeared, and Harry began counting aloud while his friends grinned back at him. This should be entertaining. Only Neville seemed a little hesitant.

"They might try to get you back for interrupting them, you know," he warned.

Harry waved away the concern.

"They're not malicious. Just bored to death. I sympathise completely and welcome the challenge, should it arise."

Another _pop!_ of elven apparition heralded Cuddie's reappearance with Fred and George in hand. She held them by their ears and refused to loose her grip for any sound of protest from either boy.

"Call her off!"

"Please!"

"Thank you very much, Cuddie," Hermione said.

The little elf curtsied again with a mischievous smile and disappeared once more.

"Good afternoon gentlemen," Harry smirked. "Thanks for joining us."

The twins glared down at him as they rubbed their abused auditory protrusions.

"Look who it is, George."

"Ickle firstie Harrikins–"

"Must have got conked on the head yesterday–"

"Or else he hasn't paid attention to our reputation–"

"Because why else would he kidnap us in the middle of very important undertakings?" they finished together.

"Yes, you're very impressive," Daphne dismissed with a bored gesture. "But we need you for something actually worthwhile."

"It's dangerous," Neville quickly offered. "And illegal."

"Don't forget 'possibly life-threatening,'" Draco added nonchalantly. "Depending on how big it gets by the time we get around to moving it."

The twins stood straight, shared a conversation of eyebrow wiggles and nose twitches, and finally sat upon one of the nearby wooden benches where they crossed their legs in tandem.

"Sounds interesting," said Fred.

"Count us in," agreed George.

A floo call to Charlie Weasley, a very candid talk with Hagrid wherein Harry translated Norbert's needs to the tearful groundskeeper, an extremely large distraction involving nearly all the puddings at that night's supper, and several hours later, Norbert the baby Norwegian Ridgeback climbed clumsily into the fireplace of the Honeydukes cellar to join its kin in the Hebrides.

"Why are our lives so bloody ridiculous?" Draco griped as he and his fellow Slytherins snuck back into the dungeons beneath the invisibility cloak.

"The Fates like laughing at us," Daphne snarked back. "Obviously."

With Harry leading the way, they found the common room quickly and tumbled into the plush embrace of the nearly abandoned furniture within. Shafts of light already pierced the gloom of the Black Lake outside the windows and drenched the room with pale green sparkles.

"It's only Tuesday, isn't it?" Daphne groaned as she curled into her chair.

"Yes," Harry said, as if the word were a lament.

"Let's skive off everything after Potions, agreed?"

Both Daphne and Harry nodded to Draco's suggestion.

* * *

**22 May 2013**

_Dear Harry,_

_Congratulations on winning the Quidditch cup! I remember that silvery-haired boy Draco saying your competition wasn't very good, though. I miss playing footie with you. Your teammates from your club miss you, too. They came around straight after the league announced registration for next season to ask if you're still in love with your fancy boarding school. Mum told them you that you did and that you're playing for your school's team. She also told them you might join the summer practice league though, so they were only a little putout when they left. Also, Daddy made them malted milkshakes and gave them biscuits._

_I have some wonderful news! Mum and Dad have me back home with them because we need to pack to move in July! I'm going to live in the castle with you! Mummy says I have my own tower that's bigger on the inside, and I'm going to make everyone use a password to come in._

_I still have to go to school at Seaton House, though. I wish I could go to a magical primary school, because I hate keeping so many secrets from my friends sine none of them are magical at all. It's not fair. I don't think they would like me any less. _

_Also, you could teach me things if I went to a magical primary school. Mum and Dad say they're going to be teaching lessons at Hogwarts since we'll be living there, but they said I'm too little to go to classes with them. I told them that didn't make any sense since lots of boys your age are a lot stupider than girls my age, so I'd be smarter than at least half their classes. _

_Dad said not to forget that._

_I also told him that I wasn't counting you or Neville with most boys, since Gran says you're both oddly well-behaved. _

_Please send me more photos of Hagrid's animals. Does he teach any classes? I think I'd like to take them when it's my turn to be a witch. I think you'll be a seventh year by then, but I think it'll still be fun because we can go on adventures. We wouldn't even get in trouble if you become a prefect. I'm sure you will, because you're almost as brilliant as me. _

_I can't wait for you to come home. Mummy says your finals are going to start soon. Good luck! I know you'll do great. _

_Send me chocolate! I liked the Ice Mice you brought home at Christmas._

_Love,_

_Jenny_

Harry folded the letter and tucked it back into his rapidly thinning diary. Fewer than twenty pages remained inside the black binding to denote the rest of term and the beginning of summer holiday. A stack of books stood by his left elbow, along with a colour-coded revising schedule courtesy Hermione. His notes, carefully organized for subject, term, and topic, lay wrinkled and dog-eared from his several study sessions. He felt antsy. Exams were fast approaching, and Quirrell still hadn't made a go at the trap door, according to the Doctor's sticker-based security system that Harry's sonic scanner and his parents' computers constantly monitored.

Neville and Draco sat across from him, benefitting mightily from his fastidious study habits, but something had to change, soon, or he felt fairly certain he'd start throwing spells around just to break the tedium. It was a pointless exercise, really, after an entire term of memorising not only his first-year material, but also drilling a virtual library-full of defensive and practical magic. His friends, having assisted him in his efforts, knew all they should, too, by now.

"That's it," he muttered mutinously, throwing down his pen. "I'm finished. Who wants to join me for a flight around the grounds?"

"I'll give flying a miss," Neville smiled. "But I do think I'll finish this last bit for Transfiguration outside. I've read the same passage four times, now, so a change in scenery definitely couldn't hurt."

"I'll come," Daphne called down the table. "I'm going mad."

"And that's my cue to give up for the day," Draco agreed. "Let's go. Zabini, Davis? You game?"

Word spread across the great hall, and soon, nearly all the tables stood abandoned as most of the first through fourth year fled the stuffy hall for the inviting warmth of the grounds.

Hannah, Susan and a Daphne began a merry race around the castle's towers against Blaise, Harry and Draco to see which team could relay a ball of bluebell flames fastest from the bell tower to the Astronomy spire. Hermione, Tracey and Neville picked a shady spot by the lake to picnic and read while their friends zoomed overhead.

Harry's departure from the ground and surrender to stunts of aerodynamic agility instantly freed him from the restlessness that had gripped him in the great hall. It cleared his mind of his anxiety concerning Quirrell's hesitance and made space for him to think, while his reflexes and instinct took over the act of flying. Questions pinged across the forefront of his consciousness, and random facts and ideas echoed back. He reviewed the terrifying first Quidditch match, the trips through the trap door, and his green-ridden nightmares. He recalled snatches of conversation with Professor Snape, his parents, and his friends. Slowly, he sorted the important information from the rest.

Snape specifically said Voldemort wanted _him_, just like the stories indicated.

Why would a military and political leader take time off his rebellion to hunt a baby?

Why did Dumbledore apparently want an eleven-year-old to be a hero?

How could anyone expect a not-yet-teenager to confront a certified Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor apparently skilled and discrete enough to warrant a dark lord's attention?

On top of everything else, he worried for his family. It was one thing to know his mum and dad participated in sometimes life-threatening activities for the protection of Earth and for the betterment of Human-Alien relations. It was entirely another thing to be the root cause of a threat against them. He could not help thinking his mother, father and sister would have been spared a lot of stress and danger had Rose and the Doctor not found him. Or, better yet, if Voldemort hadn't killed his birth parents.

Why couldn't things as wonderful as unicorns and magic come without the balancing necessity of evil wizard terrorists?

"Oh bananas."

Harry pulled to a stop, and five swerving bodies raced past as his friends spun to avoid him. His broom hovered in midair as understanding and horror pierced through the mess of his thoughts to pin him in place.

"Oh, I'm so thick!" he groaned.

He leaned backward, pressed the balls of his feet hard against their metal rests, and the boy and broom flipped backward to rocket toward the ground. He heard someone scream through the rush of air in his ears. The howl left his head ringing as his descent slowed just enough for to hop off without breaking something. The boy landed in a crouch before Neville, Hermione and Tracy, and he straightened to stand at the edge of their picnic blanket. Its occupants stared at him in alarm.

"I just had a horrible thought," Harry rattled. "What if they think what they do because someone told them to? What if-"

Harry glanced around and sent Tracy a pleading look. The brunette expelled a put-upon sigh but drew herself to her feet without a fuss, taking the half-drunk, sweating pitcher of pumpkin juice with her.

"I was about to go replenish our beverages, anyway."

"Thank you, Davis," Hermione said softly.

"Not at all," the Slytherin shrugged with a wry smile. "I can tell when a private conversation's brewing, and I know you lot well enough to trust it's not about me, so go on. I'll take my time."

Harry took their brief exchange as an opportunity to catch his breath until Tracy had wandered out of earshot. He then flopped gratefully onto the blanket to press the heels of his hands into his eyes. Spots of red and white coloured his vision centres, and the boy used them to distil his thoughts from the creeping, panicked suspicion coiling in his gut. He felt a firm, slightly pudgy hand grasp his shoulder and never felt more grateful for the sometimes-shy Gryffindor's unwavering support.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione urged.

"Are seers real?"

The Gryffindor boy blinked at the non sequitur, and his Hufflepuff counterpart's eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"What?" he asked blankly.

"Seers," Harry hissed. "Prophecy-makers. Are they real?"

"Oh," Neville frowned and released his grip as Harry sat up. "Yeah. They are. There's a whole department in the Ministry that handles stuff like that. Real Prophesies are stored there so their subjects can listen to them."

"_Oh!_" Hermione gasped, quickly catching up.

Her mood shifted quickly from delighted understanding to dawning dread, and her usually rich caramel face turned ashen olive.

"Oh no," she whispered. "No, that's just not fair!"

Harry closed his eyes again. She agreed. He exhaled, and felt the painful wash of realisation bleach the far reaches of his mind as he let go of the doubts and hopes he had held onto. It scoured away the fog of confusion and the stress of the unknown, but left raw, painful truth in its wake. Without his own subconscious protecting him, the threads of his mind reconnected and everything began to make a sick sort of sense.

"It's like a cheap paperback novel," Harry managed.

His voice sounded as brittle as his brain felt.

"Dad says the universe just has an odd way of operating like that. It's not necessarily sentient, but it has a sort of collective sense for what it's doing. The Vortex weaves patterns, grows life, and breaks it all at once."

Neither of his friends answered his bitter mutter, but two sets of trembling arms wrapped around his shoulders and middle. He leaned bonelessly into their hold to breathe in the smells of springtime, parchment, ink, soil, and freshly sprouted grass and to get a grip on his turbulent emotions. The air tasted of ozone, and he knew the others felt his unease, too.

"We need to call the Doctor," Hermione gently urged after he calmed.

"Agreed," Harry murmured tiredly.

In retrospect, he thought his parents must have already reasoned out _this_ bit, too. They'd been working for the Ministry and immersing themselves in Wizarding culture and history since August. As with his epiphany regarding the true thief's identity, he imagined they wanted him to make his own decision without their bias affecting him, and they had already resolved to back his choice regardless.

He very much wanted to go home.

He wanted even more to ensure no harm came to his family when he finally did. The possibility of a true prophecy significantly dampened his inclination to run. Running, given the extreme lengths the headmaster had gone through to ensure a confrontation, very much felt like the wrong choice to make, no matter its appeal.

"I'll have Gran ask Great Uncle Algie what it takes to get into the Department of Mysteries," Neville offered. "No matter what happens, you need to know for sure."

"Seconded," the Hufflepuff and Harry whispered together.


	15. No Quarter

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the authors, producers, and companies with whom the material in question is affiliated.

January 29, 2016 A/N: Two years after I started this story, I think it's finally where I want it to be as far as the flesh and bones go. Please help me finish polishing it by looking for omitted words and things like that. I discovered belatedly that the uploader likes to delete random punctuation and whole parts of sentences.

_**The next book and continuation for this story, **_**All Hail the Time Lord's Son, _is live on my profile. _**

Thank you so much for your follows, faves and reviews. I've never written a story of this magnitude in so short a time (originally, about a month from beginning to end). I hope you've enjoyed this first installment of my alternate imaginings to JK's universe and the metacrisis Doctor.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: No Quarter

* * *

**7 June 2013**

Harry left his Potions final feeling exceptionally pleased with himself. His forgetfulness draught had turned out perfect. Professor Snape silently bottled several phials worth for Madam Pomfrey's store, which in itself was as good as pronouncing Harry first in class. The first-year Charms exam the day before had left him feeling similarly pleased, having made his pineapple dance a perfect imitation of a Ginger Rogers routine he once saw on the telly. He performed admirably in Transfiguration, though Daphne made her mouse-turned-snuffbox far more decorative than his own for bonus points. His lacked imagination despite possessing perfect form and utility. No one did as poorly as Crabbe and Goyle, however, whose boxes still had whiskers and tails when they ran out of time.

Their astronomy exam felt laughably easy – a simple affair of mapping the night's sky and labelling the heavenly bodies – and herbology seemed positively relaxing after their especially long and tedious written exam for history of magic.

Contrarily, his exam for defence against the dark arts felt like a disaster. It wasn't that Harry didn't know the material, but in the presence of his personal nightmare-inducing demon, he found it nearly impossible to concentrate long enough to do anything with it. Most of his energy went to reinforcing the rather formidable defences around his mind, and the small fraction left over barely managed to fill in his essay questions before the bell rang. He could only feel glad there wasn't a practical portion, or he might have done even worse.

But now, it was over, and Harry happily allowed Neville to escort him to the hospital wing for a well-deserved dreamless sleep potion and a long, long nap.

* * *

**Very Early 8 June 2013**

Ron Weasley woke from the same nightmare that had haunted him for the last several weeks, ever since his ill-gotten detention from the greasy-haired, hook-nosed, over-biased, anger-inducing Professor Snape.

Sweat clung to his forehead and made his fringe stick uncomfortably to his cold skin. His flannel pyjama shirt practically dripped with perspiration. His hands shook. Shivers rolled down his spine.

He bent over the side table and hastily lit the candle there with the tip of his wand, unwilling to sit in the darkness with the spectre shifting just beyond the fringes of his imagination. Its shrouded face shone with silvery unicorn blood and its clawed hands reached for him even as the light of Hagrid's lantern shone behind him in the dark.

"Whossit?" Neville asked sleepily in the bed beside his own.

Ron grunted something unintelligible as the other boy's curtains opened. Only then did he notice their guest.

"Gah!" Ron screamed.

The pointy-eared creature crossed its arms and glared up at the red-haired boy.

"You will wake your friends, young Ronald Wheezey," the house elf hissed. "Cuddie needs Neville Longbottom," she said, turning to the bleary-eyed blonde.

"What's wrong?" Neville yawned. "What do you need?"

Cuddie hopped up onto the bed and tipped a potion into Neville's mouth. Steam immediately spewed from the boy's ears as he straightened, and his eyes bulged momentarily with the potion's effects.

"Harry Potter is in danger! Cuddie went to wake him because Cuddie saw his sonic thingy beeping when she was cleaning his room, but he was not in the hospital wing when I went to bring it to him. Cuddie cannot find him, and the only place elves cannot go in the castle is the headmaster's room and the big doggie's corridor. Please hurry! Cuddie has already woken Miss Greengrass, Miss Grangey and Master Malfoy!"

The little elf rang her hands as Neville jumped from the bed and slid into his shoes. He didn't bother changing out of his teddy bear pyjamas and only paused a moment to take up his wand and to slap a sticker on the back of his neck.

Ron watched all this in bemusement and mounting frustration.

"What are you doing? You're going to lose us points just to go hang out with that traitor Potter?" he hissed.

Neville pushed past him.

"Sorry Ron, I haven't got time. Go back to bed."

"No!" Ron shouted as he grabbed a fistful of Neville's collar. "You tell me what you're on about, now, or I'm fetching Percy!"

A loud _crack!_ rent the air, and Ron found himself thrown back to his bed and tangled in his covers. The little house elf stood over him with a glare on her pointed face.

"No! Wheezey will stay and sleep or Cuddie shall make him! Neville Longbottoms is needed!"

Neville didn't wait for Cuddie to run down the dormitory stairs. He dashed through the portrait hole to run, flat-out, to the third floor corridor, where the others waited anxiously for his arrival. It was a wonder no one stopped him on his way, but then, Cuddie may have thought of that before she fetched him. By the time he reached Daphne and Draco, the boy was panting for breath. The Slytherins and Hermione were in no better shape.

"I've got Harry's bag and scanner," Daphne said. "Are you ready?"

Neville nodded rather than trying to speak around his gasps. Hermione managed a squeak. Draco pointed his wand at the lock.

"_Alohomora!" _

Hermione activated the music box as soon as the door opened, but there was no need. The beast inside lay trussed and bound in the corner, whining pitifully to itself. All three noses sniffed eagerly at them as the children entered, but its eyes, usually mad with the desire to defend its post, stared forlornly at them while they approached the trapdoor.

"Oh, it looks sort of sweet when it's not snapping at us," Hermione murmured, still a little breathless after her panicked run.

"Well, we've not got the time to waste and we need to help Harry," Neville grunted. "Besides, he'd only get in the way on the way back up."

Draco huffed as he lifted the heavy trap door.

"We don't have Harry's broom," Daphne said regretfully. "He's kept it in the changing rooms since we finished placing the alarms."

"We'll just have to manage without. It's good Draco's such a great flier," Hermione said. "Has anyone called the Doctor?"

She lit her wand and started passing out water pistols, which the other children quickly stuffed into belts or pockets.

"Done," Daphne confirmed. "As soon as Cuddie told me. They Rose told me to get Snape, and I did, and he's trying to get the headmaster back from London, but she also said to not go after him, which we're obviously not doing."

"Let's not waste any more time," the Slytherin boy snapped. "Let's go."

Just as in their earlier excursions, the devil's snare gave them little trouble and the key room quickly fell to Draco's skill. The chessboard presented a new challenge.

"We've never tried to take so many people across," Hermione worried.

"It's only one more," Neville said. "We'll manage."

And they did, though there were a few close calls with so many of them on the board. With four brains thinking together, however, they still finished the game within fifteen minutes. The white pieces bowed out of the way, and the children rushed forward into Bob's chamber.

A stench like an open sewer freshly topped with rotting fertiliser met their noses, and Daphne wretched.

"Oh no," Hermione sobbed through her sleeve.

Neville and Draco shifted closer to the girls as they took in the scene.

Bob the troll lay dead on either side of the next door. His top half faced them, his eyes staring dully and his mouth curled in a silent snarl of agony. His lower half lay twisted and broken against the wall. Dark grey blood pooled around the chamber, flecked with bits of flesh no one dared identify. Hermione quietly cried while Daphne held her. Draco tried very hard not to be sick.

"He must have tried to defend it, anyway," Neville mumbled forlornly.

"No," Daphne countered.

She pointed to the footprints and wide smears through the muck.

"He tried to save Harry. See? I think he's been dragged."

"We'd better get going, then," Hermione whispered shakily. "But before we go, someone should go back and get McGonagall and Flitwick. They're both brilliant, and Flitwick was a duellist."

"There isn't time," Draco said a little helplessly. "And I'm sure Professor Snape woke everyone already."

"We don't have time to argue about this! The plan's shot," Neville shouted. "Hermione, with me. Draco and Daphne, you go back. You can fly. If we're not back before the teachers get here, call the Doctor."

The two Slytherins looked at the boy for a long moment. Neville nodded once and they turned to depart at a run. Hermione took the Gryffindor's hand, and they stepped through the last door to run down the remainder of the corridor together.

"How should we do this?" Neville asked as the flames sprung up before and behind them.

"Erm-" Hermione frowned and pulled a cork from one of the wine bottles.

A tap of her wand transfigured it into a small glass jar, and she grinned.

"Pour in the flame-freezing potion, put the phial back and wait for it to refill. Then we go through the black fire together."

Neville nodded, and Hermione double-checked the riddle and the arrangement before emptying her dose of potion into her conjured jar. As soon as the little phial sat once more on the table, it refilled, and Neville raised it to his lips. Hermione toasted him. They swallowed their potions in one go and, shoulder-to-shoulder with wands and potion-squirters at the ready, stepped through the black flames.

…

Harry woke from a horrible dream. The flames surrounding his head in sleep seemed to follow him into wakefulness, and pain, hot and insistent, burned across his brow. Gasping, the boy fumbled on the nightstand for his glasses until the tips of his fingers encountered the familiar plastic frames.

Only a few candles still burned through the hospital wing, and the chamber swam with shadows. The matron herself stood nearby, statue still, as if watching over him in his sleep.

"Matron," Harry rasped as he shoved his spectacles onto his face. "May I have another Dreamless Sleep? I'm still getting nightmares."

"Indeed?"

The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end at the sound of the voice, absent of its usual stutter. His head pounded ever more ferociously as he scrambled to sit up while he groped beneath the pillow.

"You've no need of your wand, Potter," Quirrell snarled. "You will come with me, or you will face the same fate of the dear matron. She was most unwilling to allow me entry, you see."

"You didn't need to hurt her," Harry said more bravely than he felt as he slid out of bed and stepped into his shoes.

"Do keep that in mind," the turbaned professor sneered. "I do not _need_ to do anything. I do only as I please."

With two wands pointed at his back, Harry began the all too familiar trek to the third floor corridor. Quirrell made quick work of Fluffy. Harry winced as the man cruelly bound and trussed the three-headed dog with thick black cords that cut into his protesting flesh. For the trapdoor, the professor bound Harry's arms together behind his back with the same painful bands before pushing him in, face first. It was all he could do not to scream as he fell through the open air to land with a _fwup!_ on the devil's snare below. The professor followed far more gracefully and proceeded to burn away the wriggling vines with a casual wave of Harry's wand.

"Did you think," he smirked as he pulled the boy from the floor by his hair. "That my master would not sense your magic throughout this blasted gauntlet? That He would not recognize the very thing that once undid Him?"

They had reached the key chamber. Quirrell stopped to weave a complex summoning spell that stank of bleach to Harry's sensitive nose, and the key flew meekly to his hand.

"The headmaster thought he could trap us here, but we were cautious," he murmured. "We took our time and undid the detections he cast though this place. The average seventh-year has excellent control of his magic, but no such discipline for the mind. They bend easily to suggestion and even more so to forgetfulness. Now…"

He pushed Harry forward to stumble onto the chessboard. The pieces shuddered and moved to stand aside.

"Now, they are all His. Each defence, so carefully laid to slow Him down now bows in His presence. Even the troll knows better than to stand in His way!"

But he was wrong, Harry knew. The other defences may have been re-rigged to bend under Quirrell's will, but Bob, sweet beast, had never felt loyalty for the turbaned man who locked him in his chamber. Quirrell opened the door to Bob's domain and pushed Harry through. The troll's reaction came immediately.

"GRAAAAHHHHHHHRRRRRY!"

The troll, previously seated quite docilely in the corner of the vast room, lumbered forward with his club raised as soon as he saw Harry stumble to his knees. Quirrell snarled and jumped away as the spot he previously occupied fell to the troll's club. Bob wasn't done, though. Enraged, he charged with the club swinging again.

"Stand aside, foul idiot!" the professor shrieked shrilly. "You're my beast, and you shall obey me!"

"Get away, Bob!" Harry shouted. "Run! I'm fine! Run!"

It was too late.

Quirrell's wand whipped this way and that, and where a great mountain troll stood moments before, Harry only discerned a cloud of dark gray mist. A pungent odour overtook his senses, and his mouth filled with the taste of blood and bile. His stomach protested, and he felt himself dry-heaving and shaking from his place on the ground. The boy's feet felt numb when Quirrell dragged him forward again.

He could only think how very wrong it all was. This wasn't what they planned. Where was the Doctor? Why hadn't the DMLE arrived? Why hadn't he kept the scanner on him? He should have been able to call in the cavalry before Bob died, and Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be hurt, maybe even dead, too, in her office-

His mind ground to a halt.

"Why am I here?" he whispered aloud. "What do you need me for?"

"I wondered when you would ask, Potter," Quirrel sneered as they came to the potions riddle. "Why did I bother with you when I had a job to do?"

He turned, jerked Harry's head back by his roots, and forced the potion down his throat. Harry spluttered, and a moment later, he lay sprawled before the mirror. He idly wondered why he still had any clothes.

"Weren't you paying attention, Potter?" he mocked bitterly. "I've altered the protections here to my suiting, and yet, this damned Mirror or Erised… Mirror of Desire, indeed! I see myself presenting the stone to my master. He is rewarding me beyond anything I could ever deserve, and yet, I cannot find how to retrieve the stone itself. My master felt this foul contraption call for you, and thought that doddering old fool would not believe too fearful of taking you in order to unlock the secret."

Harry choked back a hysterical laugh. It was all so very wrong.

He did not want to admit he _still_, after all their discoveries since entering Wizardspace, held some hope for Dumbledore's intentions. Of course Voldemort wouldn't be able to get the stone out of the evil bloody mirror. Dumbledore had put in a failsafe just in case Harry wasn't an idiot and didn't want to confront a terrorist on his own.

He felt wholly unsuited for such an impossible situation. He needed to be more. He needed to be better. He needed to be a Time Lord.

Harry Potter-Tyler- (sometimes) Smith needed a miracle.

"Oi! Smelly!"

Harry turned, and he felt his heart swell and stomach sink simultaneously at the sound of that voice. Neville and Hermione stood framed in the black flame archway, their wands and water pistols drawn and levelled at Quirrell's back. The man did not react. Harry slowly began inching toward his friends while they walked closer. Neville's slightly green face remained focused on their mutual enemy, but he did not move from his muttering before the mirror. Harry's heart beat a desperate tattoo against his ribs. They needed a plan, and fast.

"Do you remember what you were telling us about concussion spells?" Hermione whispered as she and Neville pulled him to his feet.

But Harry had never taught them about concussion spells.

"I could kiss you," he breathed as his memory caught up to Hermione's idea.

He glanced back at Quirrell, who still seemed intent on his task, while the girl used a _Relashio_ charm on his bondage.

"On three," he whispered as Neville and Hermione lowered their wands. "Hit him with the guns, and give it everything you've got."

Neville seemed grim and determined and Hermione, terrified but committed.

"One," she breathed.

"Two," Neville grunted.

"Three!"

Harry forced every other thought from his mind and exhaled sharply as his nose and mouth filled with the flavour of his friends' magic and his own aching desire to live.

Quirrell shouted in surprise and fury as his body flew hard against the mirror, and it shattered into a million pieces beneath his weight and the children's will. The fire behind them blinked out.

"Now!"

Neville and Hermione squirted him with the potion, and before the man could try and rise again, Harry summoned his wand to him. They fled.

Chunks of rock rained down on them from a suddenly unstable ceiling. Somehow, though, he, Neville and Hermione managed to dodge the debris and dash, gasping and covered in dust, into Bob's chamber.

"Run!" Harry yelled.

"POTTER!"

The scream was their only warning. Harry flew hard against the opposite wall. Neville and Hermione shrieked as they joined him in a heap at the wall's base. Quirrell towered over them, horrifying in his twisted anger. His turban sat askew, and the horrible stink that followed him filled their nostrils.

He desperately grabbed Hermione's gun from her pocket and squirted a face-full of paralysation potion at the man.

"Why didn't it work?!" the girl squealed.

"I don't know!" Harry shouted back weakly.

Quirrel snarled and swept an arm over his dripping face.

"YOU DARE!"

Horrible pain overtook him as the mad professor's magic picked him up and threw him again. His head bounced against the stone floor, and his shoulder and arm burned where he'd tried to catch himself. He gaped through his double vision at the glaring man standing over him.

"YOU DARE DEFY ME! YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN YOUR TRAITOROUS FATHER AND MUDBLOOD MOTHER!"

"Where's that voice coming from?" Hermione whimpered.

"Behold what you've done to my master! What you've reduced Him to!" Quirrell's mouth screamed as he tore the turban from his head.

He turned away from them to reveal the most horrible sight Harry had ever beheld. Hermione screamed. Neville made a strange choking sound. Nausea took over Harry's stomach again, and the relentless pounding in his head doubled. He felt dizzy. He couldn't seem to orientate himself well enough to crawl away. He felt someone dragging him and realised his friends had crawled toward the monster to retrieve him.

A horrible, snakelike face protruded from the back of Quirrell's bald pate. Red eyes glared at them through fleshy, lidless slits. There was no nose, rather two narrow slanted nostrils stretched over a horrible, sneering mouth.

"See what I have become?" the face rasped. "See what your mudblood mother did to me? All for the sake of you! You, who cower now at a mere shadow of my true power. You will pay, boy, for your insolence. For stealing my victory today."

The face twisted into a cruel smile, which lingered in Harry's mind even as Quirrell turned around and stepped a few paces away from them as he raised his wand. Harry weakly tried to push Neville and Hermione behind him.

"Run, as soon as I say."

"Not without you," Neville snapped.

"We do it again," Hermione agreed. "Then we'll run together."

"KILL THEM ALL!" the face shrieked.

The tip of the wand glowed green, Quirrell's lips parted in fury, and Harry sprang into action. He ran at the man in a full-on tackle to bury his head and shoulder in the professor's gut. The boy heard an _oof!_ and a strangled cry as he dug his fingers into the man's radius and twisted as hard as he could. A spell burned his skin as it missed his ear and left the air smelling of bitumen. The wand clattered to the ground. Hermione crowed in triumph, and Harry grinned as the unmistakable sound of snapping wood filled his ears.

"Now!" Harry shouted.

Again, the invisible force of their combined will and magic threw Quirrell away from them to sprawl in a robed heap across the room where he skid to rest among the remains of their fallen troll ally.

"FOOL!" Voldemort commanded in a scream like nails on glass. "KILL THEM! KILL THEM WITH YOUR BARE HANDS! DO IT! KILL THEM NOW!"

"No!" Harry cried. "We can stun him! Concentrate really hard, and think of him knocked out! Wish for it really hard!"

But Hermione and Neville were exhausted. They could hardly stand, and they were terrified. Harry was, too. Even with all his practice, he hadn't used so much wandless magic at once all year, and he hadn't slept more than a few hours a night for the last month. He wished he'd thought to put a pepper-up in his pocket before going to sleep, or that he had the strength to summon one from the tattered bag still clinging to Hermione's shoulder.

Quirrell stood on his feet again. One of his arms rest at an odd angle in relation to the rest of his body, and blood flowed freely from a wound on his skull, but he shuffled forward anyway with his crazed eyes focused on Harry.

The children tried the defensive spells they knew – tripping jinxes, body binds, _incendio_ spells – everything short enough that they could spout them in quick succession from the many hundred they learned, but the more powerful wizard batted them away like so many gnats. Neville charged only to receive a brutal blow across the face. Harry shoved Hermione behind him and roared his desperate outrage as he ran forward. When all else failed, his mother had once told him, bite and go for the eyes.

As Quirrell attempted to wrap his long fingers around his neck, Harry half climbed his thin body to bury bony knuckles in the man's eyes. To his surprise, Quirrell screamed and pulled away, and Harry watched in amazement as the professor's flesh blistered and peeled away in black flakes. It was as if he'd been burned. He stared at his hands. They felt burned hot and raw, but Quirrell had started after Hermione under Voldemort's crazed command.

Without further consideration for the intelligence of his course of action, Harry jumped on the man's back and pressed his hands to Voldemort's livid, snake-like face. It spat scarlet, bloody foam and gnashed its teeth, but the skin still charred and peeled until it crumbled like ash beneath his hands. Harry bared his teeth against the pain racing across his skin and diving deeper into his flesh and bones. It felt as if his skull would split, but still he hung on.

"If you want to kill me so badly, just go ahead and try!" he shouted through a raw throat.

His arms and legs clung harder as the body beneath them thrashed in an attempt to throw him off. He felt stone at his back. Something hot and wet ran from his crown down the back of his collar.

"Try all you like, 'cause I'll give as good as I bloody get!"

Finally, blessedly, the moving stopped. The body he held to collapsed, and as his knees hit the ground, the thing that once was Quirrel or Voldemort or both disintegrated to leave nothing but a dirtied robe behind. He heard a strange buzzing in his ears. His face felt wet and his mouth tasted like copper. Before he could turn to check for his friends, the black specks swimming on the fields of his vision expanded rapidly. His brain shut down, and unconsciousness caught him before his head hit the floor.

* * *

**14 June 2013**

It began with odd, half-formed murmurs and blurs of coloured light. A light, warm brush against his arm or forehead alerted him to the presence of others, but his head felt so much like swimming through pea soup, and his ears felt so stuffed with cotton wool he couldn't assign a name to the owner of the familiar touch. These brief moments of muddled confusion fell between long stretches of darkness, until, with quite a lot of pain, Harry opened his eyes.

Everything looked blurry and bright. With a groan and a stretch with a shaking hand, he found his glasses on the bedside table. He put them on to peer around him in confusion.

Bright sunlight streamed through the narrow, pointed arch windows spaced near the vaulted ceiling. A witch in green robes and a crisp white apron went around the room, stripping beds with a wave of her wand and sending bedding into a basket at the centre of the floor. Several chairs sat near him, several overflowing with sweets, gifts, cards and flowers. Then his mind reengaged.

"MADAM POMFREY!" he yelled hoarsely.

The woman jumped a foot in the air and whirled to glare at him.

"MR POTTER! YOU LAY DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

But Harry couldn't bring himself to listen. He shoved off his covers and ran to the woman to throw his arms around her waist.

"You're alright!" he gasped, intensely happy. "I thought he killed you! What about Hermione and Neville? And Daphne and Draco, too?"

The flustered matron patted Harry on the back affectionately and gently pushed him away.

"I'm _quite _alright, Mr Potter, as are your friends. I'm not sure what that villain told you, but I was safely asleep in my rooms until Miss Greengrass and Mr Malfoy came to wake me for your treatment. I'm just ashamed he managed to come in here and take you under my watch."

"It was Voldemort–"

The woman winced.

"I doubt you could have done anything to stop him," he said with a rush. "I'm glad you didn't. I would have hated for something to happen to you, too."

"Indeed," a playful voice said. "What Hogwarts could there be without our beloved Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry turned as Professor Dumbledore entered the hospital wing with the two people Harry least expected to see at his side.

"MUM!"

Rose ran forward and enveloped Harry in her warm, soft embrace. She sank to her knees with her arms still around Harry's slim shoulders and squeezed him so tightly he thought he might stop breathing, but he quickly decided he wouldn't mind.

"You're grounded," she sobbed into his hair. "Forever. Until you're thirty-five with kids. You're never scaring me like that again."

Harry just let his mother hold him, and all the fear and stress of the past several months came out of him at once. He felt very glad the headmaster and Madam Pomfrey suddenly seemed so interested in stripping the beds and chatting loudly to one another.

"Just how long was I out?" he finally asked once both he and his mother had stopped leaking water everywhere.

"Almost a week," the Doctor choked. "We've been here since Saturday."

"What about Jenny?"

"With Jackie and Pete."

Harry smiled up at his dad a little shyly and the Doctor loped forward to pull both wife and son into his chest.

"And your mum's right. Never scare us like that again. Just what happened? We got Daphne's call, but even after the investigation we haven't been able to piece it all together."

"You know what they say about our best-laid plans," Harry muttered. "He sensed I'd tried... You know. And the mirror wouldn't let him at it on his own, so he came and got me."

"Much to his detriment," the Headmaster beamed, rejoining them. "He thought to use you to his own devices, and, alas, you prevented him most completely."

Harry's head bowed. He ignored what little he could see of the professor's grinning place from under his parents combined limbs.

"I think I killed Professor Quirrell," he whispered in his mother's hair.

She pulled away slightly, and the Doctor knelt to gather his son up in his arms. Harry would have protested to being held like that. He wasn't a baby or a girl, but he still hadn't found the room to care about appearances, yet.

"No, Harry, if anyone's responsible for his death, the dear headmaster is," he said forcefully. "Like you said, there was no way for him to get the door prize without you, was there?"

Both parents glared at the old man who had the decency to look abashed.

"I admit I should have been more cautious than to leave while the stone still remained, but, fortunately for us all, Mr Weasley had the presence of mind to call on Minerva, who quickly dispatched her patronus to alert me to the danger."

"_Daphne_ woke Severus before Cuddie even woke Nev, so don't give me any of that. I thought we had an understanding," the Doctor growled lowly. "You can't play your stupid little games with us. I've warned you once and this is your _last_ warning: I have ended races and destroyed planets far beyond your greatest imagination. Vast armies run at the mention of my name."

"We have seen the end and the beginning, and we understand the Void and the Vortex better than your puny little mind could ever comprehend," Rose hissed icily. "We know what you've _done_, you kidnapping hypocritical arsehole, and we know why you _need_ our son."

The man and woman, eyes blazing with righteous conviction, held Dumbledore's gaze for several moments as the thinly veiled threat sank in. The headmaster no longer twinkled. Finally, the old man nodded.

"We told you before that he wouldn't be playing by your rules, but since you seemed to have forgotten, let me make it clear again," the Doctor snarled. "Since Amelia's charges of child endangerment and impeding an investigation probably won't see the light of day by the time you're done greasing palms, here's what's going to happen unless you never want to see Harry in Britain 're going to inform us the next time Voldemort raises his ugly head. The first _hint_ of any Death Eater activity will send your patronus or flaming chicken directly to us."

Harry squeezed his dad's arm, and he gently let him retake his feet on the ground. The boy still clung to his huge hand, though. He felt dizzy again, and it was wonderful having them drag the professor over the coals. In the meantime, Rose had taken up the ultimatum where the Doctor left off.

"Furthermore," she snarled. "You are _never_ to speak to Harry without the presence of either myself or his father. The same applies to our daughter when she comes here in the fall."

"If you go against these simple rules," the Doctor added. "Nothing will save you from the reckoning we will deliver. Harry will be gone from your school and from Britain. The Statute of Secret will Fall. Your offices, your commission, your power, will crumble at your feet, and when wizards ask why they have to answer to the responsibilities of their fortunate birth, you can tell them: 'Because I am a coward too weak to fight my own battles. I relied on a child to do it because it was convenient.'"

The headmaster said nothing, at first, in response the family's combined stares. His mournful eyes rested most often on Harry's stony face. The usually spry sorcerer withered, and suddenly his floor-length beard, his wrinkled skin, and his silver hair seemed to suit the over one-hundred-year-old man.

"I see I have failed more completely than I imagined possible," he murmured tiredly. "You have my sincerest apologies, and my promise, Mr and Mrs Smith, Harry- I will endeavour to be more forthright, and I shall abide by your requests from here on."

Dumbledore turned to leave the infirmary, stooped as Harry had never before seen him, but had not passed the doors when Harry's call stopped him.

"Professor, I had a thought last week… Were you there when whoever it was made the prophecy about me? Is that why you thought you were doing the right thing?"

The headmaster looked at him for a long moment from the open infirmary doorway.

"Yes," he finally admitted. "Yes, I am sorry to say I did."

He left without another word, and Harry went back to enjoying his parents' presence. It had been a very long time since Christmas holidays.

It wasn't the end to the year Harry had hoped for, but he still felt grateful for a number of things.

With Hagrid's help, he, his parents, Neville, Hermione, Daphne and Draco were able to hold a small funeral for Bob the troll, who had they buried at Neville's insistence on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The Doctor officiated and sang a beautiful Gallifreyan song of thanks, which made them all cry a little. Hagrid very helpfully carved Bob's name and death date into his club and planted it as a headstone for the fallen beast. Harry's parents departed soon after for their home in Sutton to finish packing for their move to the castle. It was good to have some closure for the misunderstood troll, and better to know the Doctor and Rose would be there next year to help prevent similar tragedy next year if his Wizarding luck persisted.

He also celebrated his friends' conditions post-Quirrell. Neville and Hermione, thankfully, really weren't hurt aside from a few minor bruises, and both looked a lot better than Harry did when Madam Pomfrey permanently released him for the leaving feast on Monday. He was told, however, that under no uncertain terms was he to fly, run, jump, or engage in any strenuous activity for the next several weeks. She rather tearfully informed him he had very nearly died from internal haemorrhaging and also gave him a very large box of potions to take for the coming month. Still, it was better than the recovery period he would have faced in a non-magical doctor's care, and he also celebrated the fact he _hadn't_ died. Jenny would not have forgiven him.

He was also surprised to receive a standing ovation when he entered the great hall for the leaving feast. Slytherin and Gryffindor, he noticed, seemed just as happy as everyone else to see him restored to their number.

"Just what does everyone think happened?" Harry whispered as he sat between Daphne and Draco.

"Well, since Madam Bones came in with Law Enforcement, everyone knows Dumbledore had the stone here all year," Draco explained. "The story is, since there wasn't any actual proof about Voldemort, that Quirrell was ill and went after the stone to save himself. You were kidnapped to help him and stopped him instead."

"So, mostly the truth," Harry muttered.

Daphne rolled her eyes and Draco scoffed.

"No," he asserted. "That sort of omission makes the rest of the story practically a lie."

"Imagine how your book sales will soar, though," Daphne quipped. "You really should look into your back-owed royalties."

"I'd rather just sue for libel and get them all shut down."

"The things you say, Potter-" the girl complained. "Sometimes I wonder if you're really a Slytherin, at all."

They broke into laughter and tucked into a magnificent feast. Dumbledore presented the House Cup to Hufflepuff (won thanks to Hermione's last-minute points on top of her House's already record-high score), and nearly everyone cheered, Harry included, as Professor Sprout accepted the coveted trophy. It had been close, though. Slytherin lagged only a couple points behind and only missed the trophy because, apparently, Weasley had picked a fight with Blaise and Tracy while Harry was recovering, and the resulting loss nearly cancelled Harry, Daphne and Draco's extra points.

With brunch over and luggage in tow, the children gathered on the platform of Hogsmeade station. The red steam engine whistled and belched white clouds over a crowd of black-robed students and the staff members who followed their exodus to see them off. Older students helped younger ones levitate their heavy trunks onboard, and housemates hugged one another good-bye.

"Do you think next year will be any quieter?" Hermione asked a little wistfully as she settled into her seat across from her Slytherin friends.

Neville laughed.

Harry smiled. He had changed drastically from the frightened boy he met so many months ago. We wasn't as clumsy, he sat straighter, and he laughed and smiled much more easily. He was brave enough to face monsters and stubborn enough to stick around when all sense screamed at him not to.

"Course not," Harry shrugged. "It's Hogwarts."

"I, for one, liked the excitement," Daphne tittered. "It's such a wonderful relief after so many years of mind-numbing society functions and pretending to be a well-behaved lady."

Draco sneered and rolled his eyes.

"Why? Is it that society functions don't try to kill you, generally speaking?"

"Let's just hope for the best," Harry laughed, interrupting what promised to be a very snarky exchange. "I promise you still reserve the right to un-friend me if the need arises."

He was answered with several blows to the upper arms and a langlock hex for good measure.

"Right," Hermione grinned, putting away her wand. "Who's up for some exploding snap?"

Harry just grinned around his immobilized tongue. He could not have asked for better friends.

* * *

A/N: I hope you've enjoyed the changes I've made and the journey we've taken. Please let me know what you think. I'll be putting an update at the end of book 2 to announce the end of my major edit party, and I hope to have edits, along with two new chapters for _All Hail the Time Lord's Son_, posted in a timely manner.

Please keep in mind that I've made significant changes and will likely take longer to gather my thoughts for AHTTS than I did to flesh out this particular beast.

Thank you again for sticking with me and for your enduring patience.

-Ren


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